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SONGS  OF  NATURE  LOVE  AND  LIFE 


"LITTLE   RIVER" 


SONGS  OF  NATURE 
LOVE  AND  LIFE 

By 
JOHN  WOOD  NORTHUP 


"MY  SENTINEL" 


PAUL   ELDER  AND   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 


Copyright^ 
By  PAUL  ELDER  &  COMPANY 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


To  THOSE 

DEAR  FRIENDS  OF  THIS 
MORTAL  LIFE  WHO  HAVE  BEEN  To 
ME  AN  INSPIRATION  AND 
A  BLESSING 


363909 


CONTENTS 

SONGS  OF  NATURE 

PAGE 

NATURE'S  CALL .       .       .  3 

CALIFORNIA         .      •«       .       .       .  •    .       .       ....  5 

MONTE  CRESTA 8 

AN  APRIL  DAY  AT  MONTE  CRESTA n 

MY  SENTINEL 13 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  STARS 15 

THE  Music  OF  THE  WIND 17 

THE  STREAMLET      '   . 20 

SUNRISE  AT  MONTE  CRESTA 22 

SUNSET  AT  MONTE  CRESTA 24 

MOUNT  TAMALPAIS            25 

DRIFTING 29 

THE  MOUNTAINS 31 

SPRING         ..." 32 

TRUCKEE  RIVER 34 

LAKE  TAHOE 36 

LITTLE  RIVER 37 

SONGS  OF  LOVE 

SING  ME  A  SONG  OF  LOVE 41 

THY  GLOWING  EYES 43 

LULLABY 45 

EXPECTANCY       .       .       .       .       .       ...       .       .       .  46 

DREAMING  .       .       .    .  .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .      '.  4-7 

MY  PRAYER        .       .       .       ...       .       ...       .       .  48 

LONELINESS        . 49 

IF  I  COULD  CHOOSE  AN  HOUR         .......  50 

FROM  A  CAR  WINDOW      , 1 


VI 


A  NIGHT-DREAM 53 

THE  BIRTH  OF  LOVE          .        .        .        .        .       .       ....  56 

A  HYMN  OF  PRAISE    .        .        .        .  .       .       .       .  57 

A  CALIFORNIA  LEGEND 58 

TWILIGHT 73 

MOTHER-LOVE 75 

LOVE'S  PERFECT  WHOLE 76 

LOVE'S  PASSING 77 

UNDERSTANDING - .  79 

IF  LOVE  SHOULD  DIE        .       .  80 


SONGS  OF  LIFE 

THE  TIDES  OF  LIFE 85 

A  SABBATH  INSPIRATION 88 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  PERSPECTIVE 90 

MY  FRIEND  INDEED 92 

ADVERSITY 93 

ODE  TO  DEATH 95 

MY  COUNTRY 96 

THE  CALL 101 

IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  GREEN  SHENANDOAH 103 

THE  FLAG .       .  1 1 1 

LIFE'S  JOURNEY 112 

THANKSGIVING  DAY 114 

MY  SYMPHONY 116 

NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 118 

NIGHT 120 

WEARINESS 122 

A  CHRISTMAS  SONG 123 

SUCCESS 124 


VII 


PAGE 

REST     .        ......        .        .        .        •       ,       •       V       •  126 

PEACE  .       .       .       . •       •       •  I28 

SLEEP    .        .       ....       .        .        .       .       .       .       .  129 

To  WASSILY  SAFONOFF      .       .       .       .       .       ....  131 

A  PRAYER    .       .       .       .       .       .  |   .       .       .       •       •       -  133 

RETROSPECTION  .        .       .       . 134 

A  BURIAL  AT  SEA              . I36 

INVOCATION 13^ 

THE  MARTYRS *39 

INTO  THE  NIGHT I42 

CHRISTMAS  MEMORIES 144 

QUESTIONINGS 145 

BOYHOOD  MEMORIES 14? 

MEXICO 149 

PEACE .^-v  '   151 

JOAQ.UIN  MILLER I52 

THANKSGIVING  DAY,  1914 ^55 

THE  MARCH  OF  THE  HOURS 157 

THE  SIXTH  SENSE 158 

How  I  DISCOVERED  "LITTLE  RHODY!" 159 

FAILURE                                    164 


SONGS  OF  NATURE 


[31 
NATURE'S  CALL 

FLEECY  cloud  from  out  the  west 
Floats  in  the  azure  sky; 


A  pretty  bird  from  out  the  nest 
Sings  in  the  tree-top  high; 

A  zephyr  from  the  wooded  crest 
Wafts  piney  odors  nigh; 

A  brooklet  from  the  mountain's  breast 
Runs  laughing,  bawling  by: 

And  in  that  cloud  the  gentle  rain 
That  nurtures  springtime-flowers; 

And  in  that  song-bird's  dulcet  strain 
Solace  for  lonely  hours; 

And  in  that  zephyr's  sighing  vein 
Comfort  for  wearied  powers; 

And  in  that  brooklet's  limpid  train 
Sweet  rest  'neath  leafy  bowers. 

Hearken,  O  man,  unto  the  call 
Of  Nature  in  her  wooing  moods — 

The  rain,  the  birds,  the  brooklet's  fall, 
The  whispering  winds  in  silent  woods — 


[4] 


Then  shalt  thou  better  understand 
The  secret  of  true  happiness — 

That  worldly  pleasures,  howe'er  grand, 
Cannot,  like  Nature,  sooth  and  bless. 


fsl 

CALIFORNIA 

CHERE  is  glory  in  thy  history, 
O  California! 
There's  a  beauty  and  a  mystery 
In  thy  golden  legends  rare. 
There  is  wealth  within  thy  mountains, 

There  is  health  beneath  thy  skies, 
There's  tinting  in  thy  flowers 
That  with  the  rainbow  vies. 

There  is  grandeur  in  thy  ocean 

O  California! 
There's  a  tonic  and  a  lotion 

In  the  ozone  of  its  air. 
There's  abundance  in  thy  valleys, 

There  is  peace  no  discord  mars, 
There  is  balm  in  thy  bright  sunshine, 

There  is  rest  beneath  thy  stars. 

There  is  joy  in  thy  completeness, 

O  California! 
There's  a  lusciousness  and  sweetness 

In  thy  fruits  beyond  compare. 
There  is  thunder  in  thy  cataracts, 

There  is  healing  in  thy  springs, 
There's  a  note  of  inspiration 

In  thy  song-bird  when  it  sings. 


6] 


There  is  splendor  in  thy  sunsets, 

O  California! 
There's  music  in  thy  streamlets 

That  banishes  all  care. 
There's  ermine  on  thy  mountain-peaks 

That  pierce  the  ambient  dome, 
There's  boldness  in  thy  eagle's  flights 

That  makes  those  peaks  his  home. 

There  is  vastness  in  thy  forests, 

O  California! 
There's  broadness  in  thy  rivers'  breasts 

Where  white-winged  vessels  fare. 
There's  richness  in  thy  argosies 

That  cross  the  harbor  bar, 
There's  marvel  in  thy  commerce 

With  Foreign  lands  afar. 

There  is  welcome  at  thy  Golden  Gate, 

O  California! 
There's  hospitality  innate 

Within  its  portals  fair. 
There's  wondrous  industry  and  thrift, 

There's  education  free, 
There's  cherishing  of  high  ideals, 

There's  real  philanthropy. 


There  is  greatness  in  thy  destiny, 

O  California! 
There's  a  marching-on  to  victory 

Beneath  thy  Golden  Bear! 
There's  a  mighty  host  advancing 

Thy  heritage  to  share! 
O,  be  ready  to  receive  them, 

My  California! 


[8] 
MONTE  CRESTA 

%    •— ^  KNOW  a  mountain  that  looks  down 

i          Upon  a  sleepy  little  town; 
+ —     ^.  And  on  a  valley  fair  and  broad — 
The  very  "Garden  of  the  Lord!" 

0  my  Mountain,  I  adore  thee! 

I  would  ever  more  enjoy  thee, 
With  thy  view,  surpassing  fine, — 
Exhilarating  as  old  wine; 

With  thy  bay  and  cypress  trees, 

Through  which  the  balmy,  scented  breeze, 
Straight  from  Araby  the  Blest, 

Sings  its  song  of  peace  and  rest: 

Ah !  thou  bring'st  me  nearer  Heaven ! 

Thou  art  the  delicious  leaven 
Of  a  busy,  restless  life, 

With  its  turmoil,  care  and  strife! 

1  have  seen  thee  in  the  sheen 
Of  the  morning  sun; 

I  have  seen  thee  capped  with  clouds 
Ere  the  day  was  done. 


I  have  seen  the  mist 

Change  to  hue  of  amethyst 
On  thy  brow. 

I  have  seen  the  snow. 

Ermine  white, 
On  thy  bosom  show. 

i 
I  have  seen  the  stars 

Shine  upon  thee  through  the  bars 
Of  the  Milky  Way. 

I  have  seen  the  Day 
Start  upon  its  way 
From  thy  crest. 

I  have  seen  it  die 

In  thy  sunset-sky 
In  the  west. 

I  have  seen  thee  glow, 

When  the  sun  was  low, 
With  the  dazzling  gleams 

Of  transcendent  beams. 
/ 

I  have  seen  thee  in  the  hush  of  night, 
When  the  moon  shed  silvery  light 


[10] 

Full  upon  thy  verdant  breast, — 

When  mysterious  voices  would  not  let  me  rest. 

Voices  that  have  called  to  me, 

Over  land  and  over  sea, 
When  I  was  far  away; — 

Calling  me  by  night  and  day: 

Drawing  me — as  doth  the  moon 

The  swirling  tides  of  ocean  on — 
To  my  mountain,  ever  blest; 

To  my  home  upon  its  crest. 

Mountain-home!    No  more  I'd  leave  thee, 

Till  angelic  voices  call  me 
To  that  Mountain-Home  on  high, 

Where  the  flowers  never  die! 


[II] 

AN  APRIL  DAY  AT  MONTE  CRESTA 

MORNING 

REEN  the  valley  lying  there; 

Scent  of  lilac  in  the  air; 
Birds  are  singing  everywhere: 
Wake!     wake!     my  soul! 

AFTERNOON 

Drowsy  humming  of  the  bees 
'Mongst  the  blossoming  apple  trees; 
Touch  of  summer  in  the  breeze: 
Dream !  dream !  my  soul ! 

EVENING 

Sunset's  glow  in  all  the  west; 
Birds  swift- winging  to  the  nest; 
Weary  Nature  going  to  rest: 
Rest!  rest!  my  soul! 

NIGHT 

Overhead  the  twilight  deep; 
O'er  the  landscape  shadows  creep: 
All  the  poppies  gone  to  sleep: 
Sleep!  sleep!  my  soul! 


12] 


BENEDICITE 

Far  above  this  mountain-height, 
From  their  starry  windows  bright, 
Angel  voices  call  "Good-night! 

Peace!  peace  to  thee,  O  soul!"  they  cry, 

Ringing  in  the  moon-lit  sky, 
Answer  echoes  sweet  and  light — 
"Peace!  peace  to  thee,  O  soul! 
Good-night!     Good-night !" 


[13] 
MY  SENTINEL 

EOR  CENTURIES  old  thou  hast  stood 
Great  monarch  of  all  the  green  wood! 
And  still  thou  art  lord  of  the  hill! 
At  dawn  the  sun  gilds  all  thy  branches. 
The  moon  thy  dark  outline  enhances 
When  night  falls  so  slumbrous  and  still. 

The  birds  seek  the  cool  of  thy  shade 

Through  the  heat  that  the  noontide  hath  made, 
They  sleep  in  the  peace  of  thy  bowers. 

And  under  thee,  pensively  lying, 
I  watch  the  glad  day  slowly  dying, 

'Mid  the  bay-leaves  and  sweet  mountain  flowers. 

The  sunset  glows  red  in  the  west; 

Thou  foldest  each  beam  to  thy  breast 
As  if  thou  wouldst  hold  it  for  aye; 

But  the  long  shadows  stealthily  creep 
Over  valley  and  woodland  and  steep, 

And  softly  the  light  fades  away. 

The  stars  gleam  afar  in  the  sky; 

The  night-birds  swoop  to  thee  and  cry 
And  tell  thee  the  secrets  of  air; 

The  night-winds  so  gently  caress  thee, 
And  tenderly,  lovingly  press  thee, 

And  solemnly  whisper  a  prayer. 


And  thou  echoest  the  voice  of  the  wind. 
And  I  list  to  thy  music  and  find 

Surcease  from  all  trouble  and  care; 
And  all  through  the  long,  weary  night, 

In  my  visions  and  dreams,  sad  or  bright, 
Thou  standest,  MY  SENTINEL,  there! 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  STARS 

STARS  seem  nearer  to  me  to-night 
Than  they've  ever  seemed  before; 
There  is  a  mystery  in  their  light 
That  fills  my  soul  with  awe. 

I  think  of  all  the  sons  of  men, 

Of  every  race  and  clime, 
TheyVe  shone  upon  with  rays  serene 

Since  the  first  dawn  of  Time. 

Yea,  e'en  before  Old  Father  Time 
His  keen  scythe  first  did  wield, 

Through  long  eternities  sublime, 
TheyVe  held  the  glistening  field. 

They  crowned  the  ladder  Jacob  saw 

On  that  far-distant  night, 
And  shed  on  him,  forevermore, 

Their  soft,  effulgent  light, 

The  wanderer  in  the  wilderness, 

Discouraged,  lost,  forlorn, 
Lifts  weary  eyes  and  them  doth  bless 

Till  night  fades  into  morn. 


O,  when  with  problems  sore  perplexed 

And  heavy  heart  within, 
My  soul  by  countless  trials  vexed 

And  crushed  with  weight  of  sin, 

I  turn  mine  eyes  to  starry  skies, 
I  scan  the  gleaming  dome — 

Beyond  those  stars  my  pathway  lies, 
Beyond  the  stars  is  HOME  ! 


THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  WIND 

HISTEN  to  the  music  of  the  wind! — 
Breathing,  whispering,  sighing, 
In  the  tree-tops  dying — 
'Tis  the  murmuring  sea 
Softly  calling  me. 
Listen  to  the  music  of  the  wind! 

Listen  to  the  breathing  of  the  wind! — 

'Tis  as  if  some  monster  lay 
Sleeping  Titan-cares  away: 

O'er  the  mountains,  seas,  and  lands, 
Slow  his  mighty  breast  expands. 

Listen  to  the  breathing  of  the  wind! 

Listen  to  the  wailing  of  the  wind! — 

'Tis  some  soul  in  pain 
Crying  in  the  rain; 

'Tis  the  fiendish  swell 
From  lost  souls  in  Hell. 

Listen  to  the  wailing  of  the  wind ! 

Listen  to  the  whispering  of  the  wind ! — 

'Tis  as  if  it  fain  would  tell 
Secrets  it  hath  kept  so  well 

Since  this  old  world  first  began — 


Secrets  of  primeval  man. 

Listen  to  the  whispering  of  the  wind ! 

Listen  to  the  moaning  of  the  wind! 

'Tis  some  sad  heart  breaking, 
Leave  of  anguish  taking; 

Tis  some  spirit  grieving 
O'er  sorrows,  past  relieving. 

Listen  to  the  moaning  of  the  wind ! 

Listen  to  the  sighing  of  the  wind ! — 

'Tis  for  hopes  forever  fled; 
'Tis  for  happiness  long  dead; 

'Tis  for  love's  long-lost  desires 
Swept  by  passion's  flaming  fires. 

Listen  to  the  sighing  of  the  wind! 

Listen  to  the  rushing  of  the  wind ! — 

'Tis  the  breakers'  roar 
On  some  distant  shore; 

'Tis  the  thunder' s-crash 
When  the  lightnings  flash. 

Listen  to  the  rushing  of  the  wind ! 

Listen  to  the  cooing  of  the  wind ! — 

'Tis  as  when  the  dove 
Calleth  to  her  love; 


[19] 

Or  when  lovers  kiss, 
Lost  in  realms  of  bliss. 

Listen  to  the  cooing  of  the  wind! 

Listen  to  the  last  sigh  of  the  wind! — 

As  at  break  of  day 
Soft  it  dies  away. 

Voices  o'er  the  hill 
Whisper  "Peace!  Be  still!" 

Listen  to  the  last  sigh  of  the  wind! 

Listening  to  the  music  of  the  wind, 

Through  the  restless  night, 
Waiting  for  the  light, 

On  my  couch  I  lay 
Longing  for  the  day, 

Listening  to  the  music  of  the  wind! 

Listening  to  the  last  sigh  of  the  wind, 

Now  I  close  mine  eyes — 
Visions  from  the  skies 

Glide  with  morning's  beams 
Through  my  peaceful  dreams. 

O  delicious  rest! 
Far-off  in  the  west 

They  listen  to  the  music  of  the  wind! 


[*>[ 

THE  STREAMLET 

MUSIC  of  the  spheres" 
Falls  on  our  eager  ears 

thy  low  murmur  soundeth  near, 
O  streamlet  dear! 

The  whisperings  of  the  breeze 

Sigh  through  the  redwood  trees, 
Yet  still  thy  voices  soft  we  hear, 

O  streamlet  clear! 

Upon  thy  bank  we  lie, 

Our  eyes  fixed  on  the  sky, 
Held  spellbound  by  thy  siren  song, 

O  streamlet  strong! 

The  nimble  squirrels  gray 

Among  the  tree-tops  play, 
That  filter  sunbeams  on  thy  breast, 

O  streamlet  blest! 

The  birds  swoop  to  thy  brink 

And  cooling  nectar  drink 
And  bathe  each  feathery-pinion  fleet, 

O  streamlet  sweet! 


21 


The  lengthening  shadows  shift, 
And  rocks  their  heads  uplift 

To  sentinel  thy  somber  sleep, 
O  streamlet  deep! 

And  as  thy  limpid  tide 

Seeks  the  vast  ocean's  side, 
Reflecting  true,  sky,  rock  and  tree, 

O  streamlet  free! — 

So  run  our  lives  away; 

And  faster,  day  by  day, 
Adown  Time's  stream  we  onward  glide, 

O  river  wide! 

Reflecting  on  our  souls  divine 

Deeds  ill  or  actions  fine, 
Until  at  last  we  sink,  like  thee, 

Into  Eternity! 


[22] 

SUNRISE  AT  MONTE  CRESTA 

E  RISING  SUn 

Sheds  golden  light 
n  fog-sea, 
Lily-white. 

The  mountain-tops 

With  purple  glow; 
The  sky-line  ruby-tinged; 

The  valley  hid  below. 

An  intermingling  of  strange  sounds 

Comes  in  upon  the  undertow 
Of  this  weird  ocean, 

Heaving  slow. 

As  if  the  weary,  waking-world, 

Down  there,  four  hundred  fathoms  deep, 
Were  calling  through  the  fleecy  waves 

That  roll  beneath  my  feet. 

Ah  me!  the  strifes,  the  hates,  the  loves 
Of  those  poor  mortals,  toiling  there ! 

What  sufferings,  strivings,  hopes  and  fears, 
Down  in  that  world  of  care! 

I  turn  from  spectral  sea  and  sound, 
And  lo!  what  fairy-land  is  this, 


[23] 

Where  every  leaf  and  bud  and  flower 
Is  bending  to  the  sun's  first  kiss? 

The  birds  are  singing  in  the  trees, 
The  quail  are  calling  on  the  hill, 

The  dewdrops  glisten  on  the  grass, 
The  air  the  blossom-odors  fill. 

Ah,  this  indeed  is  Heaven ! 

I've  crossed  that  billowy  sea: 
Those  peaks  upon  its  farther  shore, 

Those  sounds  of  toiling  life  below, 
Are  the  Old  World  of  Time  to  me. 

The  earthly  toil  and  strifes  and  hates, 
The  sufferings,  strivings,  fears, 

Lie  buried  deep  beneath  that  sea — 

This  is  my  World!     My  Heavenly  Rest! 
My  Blest  Eternity! 


[24] 

SUNSET  AT  MONTE  CRESTA 

I  CLIMB  the  height,  lured  by  the  sunset's  blaze. 
The  mountain  stands  transfigured  in  its  rays. 
The  valley's  eastern  verge  is  all  aglow, 
While  'neath  my  feet  the  gathering  shadows  grow. 
The  wooded  range,  by  flaming  splendor  crowned, 
Looks  down  on  canyons  wrapped  in  gloom  profound. 
Far-out  upon  the  bay  a  white  sail  ghostly  gleams, 
Reflecting  on  its  swelling  breast  the  dying  beams. 
Now,  Glory's  dazzling  tints  grow  ashen  in  the  west, 
And  dusky  fingers  of  the  night  touch  e'en  the  top 
most  crest. 

Along  the  far-horizon's  rim  the  pale  clouds  sleep; 
Around  the  lower  hills  fog-phantoms  slowly  creep. 
The  twilight  fades  into  advancing  night. 
Yet  still  the  western  sky  retains  a  ghastly  light — 
A  memory  of  transcendent  brightness  fled — 
Weird  shroud  for  Day,  now  vanquished,  dead. 
The  evening  winds  sigh  softly  overhead. 
The  darkness  falls;  Stars  dot  the  violet  dome; 
And  astral  gleamings  guide  me  safely  home. 


[25] 

MOUNT  TAMALPAIS 

YOU  long  for  that  mountain-top  high, 
With  its  Titan-rocks  piercing  the  sky, 

And  its  slopes  clad  in  verdure  so  green  ? 
Will  you  cling  to  those  memories  tender 
Of  that  dying  day's  slow-fading  splendor, 
Of  that  gray  ocean's  far-flashing  sheen  ? 

Will  you  dream  of  that  vision  supernal — 
Of  a  sunset  with  colors  eternal, 

Whose  tints  kiss  the  fleece  of  the  cloud? 
Will  you  sigh  for  that  mystical  Elf-land, 
And  yearn  for  a  home  on  its  bright  strand 

Far  away  from  earth's  clamor  and  crowd? 

Will  you  dwell  on  that  last  glowing  picture 
That  filled  to  overflowing  with  rapture 

Our  souls  as  we  stood  there  enchanted — 
When,  with  one  supreme  outburst,  the  Day-God 
Shot  forth  his  red  challenge  to  Night-God — 

Defiance  from  Glory  levanted? 

Will  you  wish  for  that  night's  deepening  stillness, 
For  the  balm  of  the  air  and  its  clearness, 

And  the  flash  of  the  lighthouse  to  seaward; 
For  the  bright,  throbbing  stars  in  the  heaven, 


[26] 

For  the  wind's  soft  caress,  with  its  leaven 
Of  peace  and  refreshing  from  skyward? 

Will  you  think  of  that  walk  in  the  night-light, 
With  the  valleys  shut  out  from  our  dim  sight," 

When  only  the  gleam  of  their  myriad  lamps 
Gave  sign  that  poor  mortals  under  our  feet 
Pain  and  sorrow  and  toil  did  greet, 

As  once  did  we  down  in  those  noisome  damps  ? 

Will  you  cherish  the  thoughts  of  that  moment, 
When  we  three  kindred  spirits,  at-one-ment, 

Sat  beneath  the  dark  wings  of  the  soft  night 
And  listened  to  rhymes  of  dead  poet's  lines  ? — 
How  those  cadences  sweet  to  the  quick  ear  declines, 

Holding  us  spellbound,  enthralled  with  delight! 

Will  you  think  of  the  on-coming  sun 

And  with  what  haste  the  steep  crest  we  won, 

And  gazed  expectant  toward  the  distant  east; 
Whose  horizon,  already  flecked  with  light, 
Gave  forth  rich  promise  of  effulgence  bright, 

On  which  our  glowing  eyes  at  length  did  feast  ? 

Will  you  think  of  that  swift  downward  leap 
From  mountain-top  to  valley  deep, 
When  through  the  fleeting  hours  that  Sabbath  morn 


[271 

We  measured  the  extremes  of  depth  and  height. 
All  obstacles  overcome  by  spirits  light. 

That  with  each  cooling  draught  again  seemed  born  ? 

Will  you  recall  that  final  resting  place, 
When,  tired  and  famished,  we  upon  the  grace 

Of  a  kind  hostess  cast  ourselves  at  last? 
Ah,  of  what  wisdom  does  the  pr  jverb  savor ! 
For  "rest,"  indeed,  "is  the  sweet  sauce  of  labor. " 

And  now  we  rest  indeed,  all  toil  and  troubles  past. 

Ah,  yes!  you  will  long  for  that  grand  mountain-height, 
And  cling  to  soft  memories  of  that  dying  light, 

And  dream  that  sweet  dream  of  a  vision  supernal, 
And  sigh  for  that  mystical,  far-distant  land, 
And  yearn  for  a  home  on  its  beautiful  strand, — 

O  prototype  fair  of  that  Heaven  Eternal! 

Ah,  yes!  you  will  wish  for  that  night's  deepening  stillness, 
And  oft  will  you  think  of  that  dark  walk  with  gladness, 

And  cherish  sweet  thoughts  of  that  dead  poet's  lines, 
And  think  once  again  of  that  on-coming  sun, 
And  of  that  swift  leap  ere  his  course  was  yet  run, 

And  of  that  last  rest  'mongst  the  trees  and  the  vines. 

O  mountain-top!    O  dying  light! 
O  dreaming  sweet  of  vision  bright ! 


[28] 

O  sighing  for  that  fairy-land! 

O  yearning  for  that  mystic  strand! 
O  wishing  for  that  stilly  night! 

O  thoughts  of  walk  in  darkened  light! 

O  cherished  thoughts  of  poet's  line! 

O  beams  of  rising  sun  divine! 
O  leap  into  the  dark  unknown! 

O  peaceful  place  for  rest  alone! 
Bright  vision,  seen  through  sunset's  radiant  bars, 

O,  fade  not,  till  we  rest  beyond  the  stars! 


DRIFTING 

'FLOAT  on  a  calm  summer  sea 

With  green  slopes  afar  on  the  lee! 
And  I  dream  as  I  float 
In  my  tiny  boat. 
On  the  waves  of  a  calm  summer  sea. 

Adrift  on  a  calm  summer  sea 

With  green  slopes  afar  on  the  lee ! 

And  with  never  a  care 
I'm  drifting  there, 

On  the  waves  of  a  calm  summer  sea. 

Alone  on  a  calm  summer  sea! 

Hark!  the  night-birds  call  to  me; 
And  the  night-lights  gleam 

Afar  on  the  beam, 
On  the  waves  of  a  calm  summer  sea. 

Asleep  on  a  calm  summer  sea 

While  the  winds  blow  cool  and  free! 

And  in  dreams  of  delight 
I  drift  through  the  night, 

On  the  waves  of  a  calm  summer  sea. 

Let  me  drift  on  a  calm  summer  sea 
To  those  green  slopes  afar  on  the  lee! 


Let  me  drift  to  those  Isles  in  the  West 

Where  the  weary  and  homesick  find  rest ! 
Let  me  drift  on  a  calm  summer  sea! 


THE  MOUNTAINS 

"And  the  strength  of  the  hills  is  His  also." 

O  MOUNTAIN-PEAKS  with  ermine  clad! 
O  swirling,  crystal  torrents  mad! 
O  solitary,  silent  heights. 

Whose  sole  companions  through  the  lonely  nights 
Are  eagles'  pinions  and  the  throbbing  stars, 
I  greet  thee! 

0  thou  titanic,  adamantine  rocks, 

That  through  long  ages  have  withstood  the  shocks 
Of  subterranean  forces,  mighty  beyond  ken 
Of  all  the  puny,  helpless  sons  of  men, — 

1  gaze  on  thee  with  wide  and  awe-struck  eyes! 
My  soul  is  humbled  to  the  dust,  and  cries 
Aloud  to  the  divine  Creator  of  it  all — 
"Lord,  let  me  know  mine  end!    O,  let  me  fall 

Upon  my  knees  amidst  the  solemn  stillness  of  these  peaks ! 
O,  let  me  here  await,  in  peace,  the  coming  of  Thy  call!" 


SPRING 

Eow  OFT  have  poets  written  of  the  Spring! 
This  joyous  time  when  Nature  casts 
Her  mantle  full  in  the  lap  of  Mother  Earth — 
This  birth-time  of  the  birds  and  trees  and  flowers. 

From  myriad  branches  float  the  songs  they  sing — 
Winged-messengers  of  springtime  hope  and  cheer; 
While  at  my  feet  the  sweet  arbutus  glances  up 
And  brings  me  back  to  happy  days  of  youth, 

When,  through  the  fragrant  fields  and  leafy  woods,  a  king, 
I  strode — monarch  of  all,  it  seemed  to  me, 
So  full  of  rich,  strong,  vibrant  life,  I  was. 
Ah,  then  'twas  Spring  indeed,  for  me! 

Old  noisy  Winter,  with  his  frosty  sting, 
Had  fled  discomforted  to  northern  caves 
Before  the  south-wind's  balmy  breath, 
And  all  the  happy  sprites  of  Spring 
Danced  in  one  long,  mad  carnival  of  glee. 

And  so  doth  poor  humanity  forever  cling, 
Through  days  of  wintry  darkness  chill, 
To  thoughts  and  hopes  of  a  returning  Spring, 
When  all  of  life's  distress  and  care  and  toil 
Shall  flee  eternally  away. 


133  J 

But,  O!  what  of  those  lives  that  never  ring 
With  songs  of  springtime  hope  and  joy? 
That  struggle  on  through  winters  of  adversity 
Without  one  single  ray  of  light  to  rend  the  gloom? 

Into  whose  dreary  span  of  years  there  comes  no  living 

thing 

Of  love  nor  bliss  nor  satisfied  desires, — 
Only  the  icy  clutch  of  hope-deferred  forever  at  the  heart. 
The  soul  benumbed,  bewildered  with  a  dumb  despair? 

Perhaps  there'll  come  a  time  when  these  shall  fling, 
Full  in  the  face  of  earthly  winter  hoar, 
Their  cerements  of  clay,  and  stand  redeemed, 
With  faces  shining  as  the  sun! 

And,  kissed  by  those  celestial  breezes  soft,  that  bring 
To  pallid  cheeks  the  light  of  peace  and  joy, 
They'll  lift  their  voices  and  exultant  sing: 
"The  winter  of  our  troubled  life  has  fled  away! 
O  Glorious  Clime!    God's  Country,  fair! 
Land  of  Eternal  Spring!" 


134] 
TRUCKEE  RIVER 

eivER,  swift!  whence  flowest  thou? 
Dost  thou  know? 
Born  'mid  ice  and  snow, 
Whirling,  madly  swirling, 
Ever  onward  hurling — 

Wave  on  wave — 
Onward  to  thy  grave. 

Seething,  hissing,  foaming, 

Wayward  in  thy  roaming, 
Heedless  of  those  flowers  of  lovely  hue 

And  calm  summer-skies  of  blue 
That  greet  thee,  hurrying  past, 

Boisterous  to  the  last — 
Wave  on  wave — 

Onward  to  thy  grave. 

Winter's  icy  bands  strive  with  thee  in  vain 

Turbulent  in  shine  or  rain, 
Leaping  like  a  frightened  horse, 

Nothing  stays  thy  mad'ning  course — 
Wave  on  wave — 

Onward  to  thy  grave. 

Knowest  thou  thy  destiny? — 
That  ocean's  waste-immensity 


1351 

Is  not  thy  final  bourn  ? 

Of  all  thy  power  shorn, 
Supine  thou'lt  sink  at  last 

In  the  burning  sand 
Of  a  silent  land — 

In  Nevada's  desert,  vast! 

Soul  of  mine!  whence  goest  thou? 

Dost  thou  know 
Better  than  the  river's  flow? 

Whirling,  swirling  in  the  strife 
Of  this  fleeting  mortal  life; 

Heedless  in  thy  mad'ning  course; 
Reaping  sorrow  and  remorse; 

Passing  all  earth's  flowers  by; 
Never  gazing  in  the  sky 

Of  God's  Great  Benignity — 

Soul!  what  is  thy  destiny? 

Wilt  thou  lose  thyself  at  last 
In  some  desert,  wild  and  vast? 

Sink  into  the  burning  sand 
In  some  far-off  Silent  Land? 


[36] 
LAKE  TAHOE 

'MBOSOMED  'mongst  primeval  forests  vast, 
And  girt  about  by  the  eternal  hills, — 
Whose  ermined  peaks  look  down  on  thee  and  smile 
When  touched  with  splendor  by  the  dying  sun — 
Tahoe,  of  sapphire  and  of  emerald  hues,  I  greet  thee! 

And  thou  dost  answer  smile  with  smile 

Until  the  last-departing  beam  hath  faded  from  thy  breast: 

And  then  the  hush  of  night  enfolds  thee, — 

Unbroken,  save  for  the  even-song  the  tall  pines  whisper  to 

thee, 

And  the  murmur  of  the  ripples  on  thy  shore. 
The  night  skies  cover  thee,  as  with  protecting  wings, 
And  from  their  silent  depths  thou  mirrorest  in  thy  depths 
The  gleamings  of  a  radiant  host  of  stars. 

Good-night  to  thee!    And  yet  again,  good-night! 

Into  thy  unfathomed  deeps  I'd  cast  forever  all  of  the 

sorrows, 

Cares  and  fruitless  seekings  of  this  mortal  life, 
And  turn  from  thee  regenerated,  free, — with  face  serene 
As  is  thy  face  when  morning  breaks  upon  thee, 
And  ushers  in  another  summer  day  as  peaceful 
As  these  fleeting  Sabbath  hours, — 
Reflecting  God's  Eternal  Peace! 


[37J 
LITTLE  RIVER 

JVER!  little  river! 

Tender  memories  hover 
Round  thy  every  winding  turn. 
Thoughts  of  youth  within  me  burn 
As  I  on  thy  bosom  float. 

Thou  art  ever  dear  to  me, 
River!  little  river! 
Flowing  to  the  sea. 

River!  little  river! 

Evening  shadows  gather 
As  the  day  dies  in  the  west, 

And  the  young  birds  seek  the  nest: 
Then  each  rock  and  flower  and  tree 

Mirrored  in  thy  depths  I  see, 
River!  little  river! 

Flowing  to  the  sea. 

River!  little  river! 

Moonbeams  on  thee  dance  and  quiver; 
Sunbeams,  star-gleams,  kiss  thee  ever; 

Summer  breezes  soft,  caress  thee; 
Wintry  winds  across  thee  shiver; 

Still  thou  flowest,  changing  never, 
River!  little  river! 

Flowing  to  the  sea. 


[38] 

River!  little  river! 

Earthly  ties  may  sever, 
Hopes  of  youth  may  shattered  be, 

Still  thou  flowest  faithfully — 
Never  pausing,  ever  flowing. 

Ever  and  forever — 
River!  little  river! 

Flowing  to  the  sea. 

River!  little  river! 

I  am  weary  of  Life's  fever — 
Bear — O,  bear  me  to  the  Giver 

Of  all  joy  and  peace  and  rest! 
Bear  me  on  thy  tranquil  breast 

To  the  Islands  of  the  Blest! 
Little  river! — Mine  forever! — 

Bear  me  to  thy  Boundless  Sea ! 
To  thy  VAST  INFINITY! 


SONGS  OF  LOVE 


[-4*1 
SING  ME  A  SONG  OF  LOVE 

ING  ME  a  song  with  love  for  its  theme, — 

Love  that's  unselfish  and  pure, 
Love  that  is  boundless  and  sure — 
Sing  me  a  song  of  love. 

Sing  me  a  song  with  love  for  its  theme, — 
Not  love  that  is  found  in  some  beautiful  dream, 

But  every-day  love  with  its  laughter  and  losses, 
Its  hopes  and  its  heartaches  and  crosses — 

Sing  me  a  song  of  love. 

Sing  me  a  song  with  love  for  its  theme, — 

Love  full  of  sunshine  and  joy  and  thrills, 
The  real  love,  the  old  love — "old  as  the  hills" — 

Sing  me  a  song  of  love. 

Sing  me  a  song  with  love  for  its  theme, — 
The  love  of  a  maid  with  its  resplendent  gleam, 

As  she  gives  her  first  kiss  to  the  youth  of  her  choice, 
And  knows  that  she  lives  but  to  love  and  rejoice — 

Sing  me  a  song  of  love. 

Sing  me  a  song  with  love  for  its  theme, — 

The  love  that  shines  forth  from  the  fond  mother's  eyes 
When  close  to  her  bosom  her  sleeping  babe  lies — 

Sing  me  a  song  of  love. 


[42] 

Sing  me  a  song  with  love  for  its  theme, — 

The  love  that's  as  broad  as  humanity's  scheme, 

That  noblest  of  all  love,  encompassing  all, 

The  love  that  in  Eden  held  sway,  ere  the  Fall — 

Sing  me  a  song  of  love. 


143  J 
THY  GLOWING  EYES 

CHY  GLOWING  eyes  so  deep,  dear, 
Speak  of  the  happy  hours 
When  hand  in  hand  we  wandered 
'Mid  fields  and  springtime  flowers. 

Thy  tender  eyes  so  sweet,  dear, 

Tell  tales  of  bygone  bliss, 
And  memories  beset  me 

Of  one  last,  lingering  kiss. 

Thy  sparkling  eyes  so  bright,  dear, 

Rxr  .se  me  to  action  fine, 
And  noble  thoughts  possess  me — 

True  counterparts  of  thine. 

Thy  laughing  eyes  so  glad,  dear, 

Uplift  my  heart  oppressed, 
Till  through  its  chambers  swelling 

Chime  anthems  of  the  blest. 

Thy  mournful  eyes  so  sad,  dear — 

The  sorrows  of  the  past 
Shall  nevermore  remembered  be 

When  these  arms  hold  thee  fast. 


44 


O  wondrous,  wondrous  eyes,  dear! 

A  spell  o'er  me  they  cast 
That,  strong  and  sure,  shall  bind  me 

Till  Life's  dream  ends  at  last! 


LULLABY 

'LEEP,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 
Angels  guard  thy  rest! 
Lay  thy  tired  head 
Close  against  my  breast — 
Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 

Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 

Sorrows  all  forgot, 
In  the  dreamland  realms 

Bliss  shall  be  thy  lot — 
Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep ! 

Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 

Gone  from  thee  all  care; 
Seraphs'  songs  for  thee  are  ringing 

In  the  silent  air — 
Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 

Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 

God's  own  stars  gleam  on 
To  guide  thee  through  the  maze  of  night 

Unto  the  Perfect  Dawn — 
Sleep,  my  dear  one,  sleep! 


U6] 
EXPECTANCY 

GHE  NIGHT-BIRD  wings  its  flight  to  realms  in  air; 
Soft  o'er  the  mountains  falls  the  purple  haze; 
And,  one  by  one,  the  glistening  stars  in  heaven 

appear, 

And  over  all  the  sunset's  dying  blaze: — 
The  summer  day,  so  beautiful,  is  done! 

Onward  I  speed  into  the  gathering  gloom 

Toward  one  bright  star  resplendent  in  the  West — 

Dear  star  of  love,  which  shines  in  every  room 

Of  this  enslaved  heart  that  chafes  within  my  breast — 

Patience,  O  heart!  a  little  longer  yet,  and  Heaven  is  won! 


[47] 
DREAMING 

I  DREAM  of  thee  when  throbbing  stars  are  shining, 
And  all  the  slumbering  world  is  hushed  in  dark 
repose; 

I  feel  thy  yielding  arms  about  my  neck  entwining, 
While  deep  within  my  heart  Love's  fire  resplendent 
glows. 

I  dream  of  thee  when  Dawn  its  way  is  winging 
Out  of  the  shadows  on  blazing  pinions  fleet; 

I  hear  the  birds  in  all  the  tree-tops  singing, 
And  feel  within  my  soul  thy  gentle  presence  sweet. 

I  dream  of  thee  amid  the  noontide  splendor, 
When  in  heaven's  deeps  of  blue  the  white  clouds  float 
and  fade; 

I  hear  thy  voice  in  accents  soft  and  tender; 
I  feel  upon  my  brow  dear  hands  caressing  laid. 

I  dream  of  thee  and  life  no  more  is  dreary, 

All  care  and  sorrow  flee  eternally  away; 
Then  in  these  arms  I'd  fold  thee  close,  my  dearie, 

And  upward  sweep  with  thee  to  realms  of  Endless  Day! 


MY  PRAYER 

CHE  LOVE-LIGHT  in  thine  eyes,  dear  heart, 
Dwells  ever  with  me — even  in  my  dreams: 
And  though  in  space  and  time  we're  far  apart, 
Thy  presence  thrills  me,  stills  me,  holds  me  with  its  beams, 

Ojoy!    O  peace!     O  bliss  divine! 

All,  all,  is  mine,  if  in  thy  faithful  love  I  share — 

Sun  of  my  soul!    O,  let  me  call  thee  mine! 

God  bless  thee,  keep  thee,  save  thee,  is  my  prayer. 


[491 
LONELINESS 

O  HE  ART  bereft! 
The  hours  are  sad  and  dreary; 
The  wings  of  Time  seem  leaden ; 
The  way  is  long  and  weary — 
O  heart  bereft!     O  heart  bereft! 

O  heart  bereft! 

Life  seems  an  endless  sorrow; 
A  somber,  joyless  day, 

Without  one  glad  tomorrow — 
O  heart  bereft!     O  heart  bereft! 

O  heart  bereft! 

In  loneliness  declining, 
Know  that  behind  the  clouds 

The  sun  is  ever  shining: 
That  for  each  hour  of  grief  and  pain, 

God  gives  an  hour  of  joy  again — 
O  heart  bereft!     O  heart  bereft! 


15°J 
IF  I  COULD  CHOOSE  AN  HOUR 

IF  i  COULD  choose  an  hour,  dear  heart, 
An  hour  from  care  and  trouble  free- 
From  all  life's  worries  set  apart — 
I'd  spend  that  hour  with  thee. 

If  I  could  choose  an  hour,  dear  heart, 
Full  to  the  brim  with  joy  and  glee, 

Afar  from  men  and  busy  mart, 
Yd  spend  that  hour  with  thee. 

If  I  could  choose  an  hour,  dear  heart, 
When  I  from  earthly  bonds  might  flee, 

Urged  on  by  Love's  swift,  flaming  dart, 
I'd  spend  that  hour  with  thee. 

If  I  could  choose  my  final  hour — 

The  very  last  in  life  for  me, — 
Helpless,  undone,  in  Death's  chill  power, 

I'd  spend  that  hour  with  thee! 


FROM  A  CAR  WINDOW 

GHE  MOUNTAINS  grand 
On  every  hand 
Are  mantled  quite 
In  ermine-white. 

The  sage-brush  low 

Droops  'neath  the  snow 
And  Winter's  breath 

Brings  touch  of  death. 

To  leaden  skies 

The  lone  bird  cries 
And  dreary  desolation  reigns 

In  all  the  Desert's  treeless  plains. 

But  in  my  heart 

Dwell  thoughts  apart 
From  this  chill  scene — 

Sweet  thoughts  serene. 

They  hurry  back 

Along  the  track 
The  iron-horse, 

In  madd'ning  course, 


[52] 

Hath  carried  me, 

Far,  far  from  thee, 
And  now  thy  presence  sweet 

Fills  me  with  joy  complete. 

And  in  this  gloom 

Rich  flowers  bloom; 
Hope,  Love,  and  Peace  are  mine,- 

Foretaste  of  Heaven  divine! 


I53l 
A  NIGHT-DREAM 

E  BROODING  spirit  of  the  Night 
Holds  me  as  one  enthralled! 
Her  sable  mantle,  star-bedight, 
Hath  quenched  the  last,  faint,  flickering  gleams 
Of  sunset's  dying  beams. 

The  lowing  kine  no  longer  call; 

The  birds  are  sleeping  in  the  nests; 
Beneath  a  subtle,  slumbrous  pall, 

All  Nature  rests. 

Onward  I  plunge  into  the  deepening  night: 
To  the  four  corners  of  the  silent  earth — 

East,  West,  North,  South — I  look  in  vain  for  light; 
For  just  one  solitary  human  ray 

To  guide  my  lonely  way. 

I  send  my  voice  into  the  inky  void: 

I  listen  for  one  single  human  word 
To  cheer  my  tired  soul, 

But  no  reply  is  heard. 

Upward  I  lift  my  face  unto  God's  skies: 
Ah,  yes !    His  lamps  are  burning  there — 

Those  gleaming,  countless,  starry-eyes — 
But  O,  so  cold,  so  far-away  they  seem, 

As  in  a  dream ! 


[541 

I  send  into  those  astral  deeps 
A  long,  wild  cry  to  Him  who  keeps 

The  worlds  within  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 
And  e'en  the  sparrow's  fall  doth  see: 

"O  Abba,  Father!  answer  me! 
Guide  Thou  my  stumbling  feet ! 

I  cannot  longer  stand!" 

And  lo !    His  wondrous  voice  replies 

Out  of  the  ambient  skies: 
But  O,  so  cold,  so  far-away  it  seems, 

As  in  a  dream! 

I  raise  my  heavy  hands  to  Him  in  sore  distrust, 
Then  sink  bewildered,  fainting  in  the  dust: 

I  grovel  in  that  stygian  darkness  there; 
I  wrestle  with  my  stricken  soul  in  prayer. 


cc 


O  Love!    Dear  Love!  canst  hear  my  voice? 

Is  this  the  end?"  I  cry— 
"O,  haste  thee  on  the  wings  of  Night! 

O,  stay  not  for  the  dawning-light ! 
Outstretch  to  me  thy  tender  arms! 

Else,  must  I  die!" 


The  song-birds  sweet,  are  waking; 
Her  soft  hand  mine  is  taking; 


lS5l 

The  music  of  her  voice  is  in  my  ear; 

Her  glowing  eyes  upon  me  shine; 
Her  tender  arms  about  me  twine; 

Her  throbbing  heart  beats  close  to  min< 
The  morning  breaks ! 

All  nature  wakes!  ! 
My  Love  is  here!  !  ! 


THE  BIRTH  OF  LOVE 

KVE  COMES,  as  comes  the  blossom  sweet — 
With  tender  care  the  seed  is  sown;  ' 
iVe  watch,  each  morning,  for  the  tiny  shoot; 
And  lo!  at  last,  weVe  come  into  our  own. 

The  rain  falls  on  the  parched  earth, 

The  sun's  warm  splendor  follows  swift, 
And  flowers  come  forth,  kissed  by  the  rain  and  sun; 

And  over  all  the  fleecy  cloud  doth  drift. 

Thy  gentle  presence,  like  the  rain,  falls  on  my  parched 

heart, 

And  follows  swift  the  sunshine  of  thy  smile; 
And  Love,  the  sweetest  flower  in  earth  or  Heaven,  is  born; 
And  soft,  entrancing  music  drifts  o'er  my  soul  the 
while! 


[57] 
A  HYMN  OF  PRAISE 

(ING,  O  my  soul,  thy  hymn  of  praise! 
Shout  forth  to  highest  heaven  thy  joy; 
Join  thou  the  song-birds'  morning  lays; 
Sing,  O  my  soul!    Angelic  notes  employ. 

Sing,  O  my  heart,  the  sweet  refrain  of  love! 
Break  every  evil  bond  that  binds  thee  to  the  Past; 
Catch  thou  grand  harmonies  from  the  choirs  above; 
Sing,  O  my  heart!  for  love  now  holds  thee  fast. 

Sing,  O  my  life,  a  long,  triumphant  song ! 
Crush  to  the  earth  each  mean,  unworthy  thought; 
Rise  in  thy  power  and  smite  the  hosts  of  Wrong; 
Sing,  O  my  life!  for  love  thy  soul  hath  bought. 

Rise  then,  my  soul !     My  heart!     My  life! 

Send  ringing  down  the  years  kind  words  and  actions  fine; 

Gird  on  thine  armor,  enter  bold  the  strife; 

Sing  with  thy  dying  breath,  "Love's  Heaven  is  mine!" 


[58] 

A  CALIFORNIA  LEGEND 

i. 

BEAUTIFUL  legend  is  told 
By  the  Klamaths — once  war-like  and  bold- 
Of  Ahwahnee,  the  fairest  of  maids, 
And  Owayno,  the  God  of  the  Sun, 
Who  many  a  fair  maid  had  won 

As  at  evening  she  strolled  in  the  glades. 

The  swift,  dazzling  gleam  of  his  smile 
The  eyes  of  each  maid  did  beguile; 

But  swifter  the  clasp  of  his  arm 
As  he  folded  them  close  to  his  breast 
And  swept  to  his  caves  in  the  west, 

And  the  sunset's  ineffable  calm. 

But  of  real  love  he  never  had  heard: 
His  heart  was  as  free  as  the  bird 

That  wakes  at  the  first  touch  of  dawn 
And  sees  on  the  blue  mountain-height 
The  torch  of  the  Sun-God  alight, 

And  greets  it  with  rapturous  song. 

Now,  Ahwahnee  was  loved  by  a  youth, — 
The  son  of  the  great  chief  Karsooth — 
Who  among  all  the  Klamaths  was  known 


t59l 

As  the  mightiest  hunter  and  brave 
That  ever  the  Great  Spirit  gave 

Their  proud  tribe — the  noble  Kahsoon. 

And  the  love  of  Kahsoon  was  returned 
By  the  gentle  Ahwahnee,  who  learned 

From  her  master  and  lord  many  things: 
How  the  bear  lay  asleep  all  the  winter; 
How  the  deer  and  the  panther  did  enter 

The  snares  that  were  set  by  the  springs. 

And  how  the  industrious  beaver, 
That  cunning  and  marvelous  weaver 

Of  sticks  and  of  stones,  built  his  wigwam 
In  the  depths  of  the  swift-flowing  river, 
With  its  rush  and  its  gleam  and  its  quiver 

Through  the  forest  in  sunshine  and  storm. 

And  of  the  great  grizzly  bear 

That  Kahsoon  bravely  tracked  to  his  lair. 

And  she  saw  the  deep  scars  at  his  throat 
That  the  monster  had  made  ere  he  died 
With  the  knife  of  Kahsoon  in  his  side, — 

Who  swooned  with  the  pain,  as  he  smote. 

And  then  of  the  terrible  battle, 

When  the  Modocs,  with  war-whoop  and  rattle 


[6o] 

Of  war-drum,  swooped  down  on  the  slumbering  village, 
And  how,  after  long  hours  of  fighting, 
The  maurauders  saw  victory  alighting, 

And  began  their  red  plunder  and  pillage. 

How  the  rising  sun,  scorching  and  red, 
Looked  down  on  the  field  of  the  dead 

Where  the  Klamaths  had  made  their  last  stand: 
How  the  wail  of  the  women,  grief-ridden, 
Who  in  the  dark  forest  lay  hidden, 

Was  borne  through  the  desolate  land. 

How,  afar  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains, 

Where  the  limpid  streams  gush  forth  like  fountains, 

Kahsoon  and  his  band  of  young  warriors 
Were  hunting  the  panther  and  bear, 
When  clear  through  the  still  morning  air 

Rose  the  yells  of  the  fiendish  destroyers. 

How,  on  his  wild  steed,  at  the  sound, 
He  swept,  like  the  wind,  o'er  the  ground, 

With  his  followers  close  at  his  back — 
On !    On !  with  the  speed  of  the  wind, 
Till  the  trail  of  the  spoilers  they  find, 

And  madly  they  follow  the  track. 

On !    On !    Through  the  heat  of  the  noon, 
Till  the  westering  sun  reached  the  zone 


Of  the  night,  and  the  bright  California  moon 
Shed  its  beams  o'er  the  Modocs'  wide  path, 
They  swept  in  their  fierce,  silent  wrath, 

And  prayed  that  their  vengeance  come  soon. 

At  last  the  encampment-fires  gleam 
By  the  side  of  a  slow-running  stream, 

And  Kahsoon  and  his  warriors  alight: 
To  the  spot  where  the  Modocs  lie  sleeping, 
All  unconscious  of  foes  on  them  creeping, 

They  stealthily  glide  through  the  night. 

The  tomahawk's  swift,  silent  fall 
Cleaves  the  heads  of  the  sentinels,  all — 

No  time  for  the  death-song  is  given; 
But  the  death-rattle  sounds  in  the  throat, 
And  the  howls  of  the  dogs  rise  and  float, 

And  with  war-whoops  the  still  air  is  riven. 

Now,  the  rush  of  the  battle  is  on ! 
Though  outnumbered  an  hundred  to  one 

The  Klamaths  fall  quick  on  the  foe: 
The  play  of  their  lances,  swift-flashing, 
The  whir  of  their  arrows,  swift-crashing, 

Cause  the  Modocs'  red  life-blood  to  flow. 

And  Kahsoon,  in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 
Hews  down  to  the  left  and  the  right 


62 


The  fiends  that  encircle  him  round; 
Until  all  about  him  are  lying 
Great  heaps  of  the  dead  and  the  dying, 

While  torrents  of  blood  drench  the  ground. 

And  now,  straight  before  him  there  stands, 
With  knife  and  with  lance  in  his  hands, 

Oneco,  the  great  Modoc  chief; 
And  Kahsoon,  in  a  voice  full  of  scorn, 
Calls  him  squaw-man,  and  coward,  and  fawn, 

And  liar,  and  boaster,  and  thief. 

And  Oneco  returns  gibe  for  gibe — 
Tells  Kahsoon  that  he  never  will  live 

To  see  the  first  gleam  of  the  dawn; 
And  then  hand  to  hand  they  engage, 
And  fierce  is  the  struggle  they  wage, 

While  Klamath  and  Modoc  look  on. 

Till  Kahsoon,  with  a  masterful  thrust, 
Lays  Oneco,  the  great,  in  the  dust, 

And  severs  the  scalp  from  his  head; 
While  the  Modocs  in  terror  are  flying, 
At  sight  of  their  chieftain  there,  dying — 

Flying  back  to  their  great  Lava  Bed. 


[63 

II. 


Ahwahnee  these  tales  oft  had  heard 
From  the  lips  of  her  master  and  lord, — 

These  tales,  and  a  great  many  more; 
And  she  listened  with  eyes  brightly  beaming, 
The  love  in  her  heart  each  day  seeming 

Far  stronger  than  each  day  before. 

And  they  sat  in  the  hush  of  the  evening, 
When  the  notes  of  the  whippoorwill  blending 

With  the  cricket's  sweet,  low  plaintive  song, 
Made  music  that  banished  all  sadness, 
And  filled  all  the  night  with  its  gladness, 

While  the  tide  of  their  love  swept  along. 

And  they  talked  of  the  day,  yet  to  come, 
When  his  wigwam  should  be,  too,  her  home, 

And  she  kissed  him,  and  whispered  her  love; 
And  she  said:  "I  will  follow,  Kahsoon, 
As  the  green  sea  doth  follow  the  moon — 

Be  as  true  as  the  bright  stars  above! 

"With  bright  feathers  thy  war-lance  shall  glow; 
I  will  make  for  thee  arrows  and  bow, 

And  with  skill  weave  thy  moccasin  beads; 
And  when  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west 


[64] 

I  will  make  a  soft  bed  for  thy  rest 
Out  of  pine  boughs  and  sweet  tule-reeds. 

"For  thee  all  the  burdens  will  bear; 
From  the  deer  thou  dost  kill  will  prepare 

The  choicest  of  savory  food; 
And  when  the  dread  fever  hath  laid 
Its  hand  on  Kahsoon's  aching  head, 

I  will  steep  him  herbs  that  are  good." 

And  so  spake  Ahwahnee  the  fair, 
To  her  master  and  lord  sitting  there 

In  the  hush  of  the  evening  so  still; 
And  on  his  broad  breast  soft  she  lay, 
And  he  watched  till  the  fingers  of  Day 

Made  their  imprint  on  woodland  and  hill. 

in. 

Now  the  legend  doth  say,  you  have  heard, 
That  the  Sun-God  knew  never  a  word 

Of  love — that  bewildering  thing! 
Notwithstanding  the  maids  he  had  won,  ' 
Owayno,  the  God  of  the  Sun, 

Was  untouched  by  its  maddening  sting, 

Until  one  balmy  evening  in  May, 
When  in  ambush  he  stealthily  lay 


[65] 

In  the  glade  where  the  maidens  did  walk, 
He  saw,  in  the  gleam  of  his  smile, 
Ahwahnee  stroll  down  the  green  aisle, 

And  softly  behind  her  did  stalk. 

And  he  flashes  his  bright  golden  beams 
'Cross  the  path  of  the  maiden,  who  dreams, 

As  she  walks,  of  the  noble  Kahsoon; 
Then,  as  she  turns,  her  slow  steps  to  retrace, 
The  Sun-God  sends  full  in  her  face 

Those  gleams  that  all  maidens  have  won. 

But  not  so  with  Ahwahnee  the  fair, 
Who  is  standing,  so  beautiful,  there; 

For  the  warm,  glinting  rays  in  her  eyes 
Doth  neither  bewitch  nor  beguile, 
As  she  waits,  all  so  pensive,  the  while, 

And  Owayno  looks  down  in  surprise. 

And  whence  comes  this  pang  of  unrest 
As  he  sweeps  to  his  caves  in  the  west 

And  the  sunset's  ineffable  calm? 
With  chagrin  he  hath  found  that  his  dart 
Hath  failed  to  reach  Ahwahnee's  heart, 

While  his  own  hath  been  pierced  by  her  charm 


[66] 

IV. 

And  thus  the  great  Owayno  heard 
Of  love — O,  the  marvelous  word ! — 

And  he  felt  all  the  pangs  that  it  brings — 
The  longings,  the  sighings,  the  meanings. 
The  miseries,  happiness,  groanings, 

Of  poor  mortals  who  suffer  its  stings! 

And  eve  after  eve  in  the  glade 
The  Sun-God  in  green  ambush  laid 

For  Ahwahnee,  who  walked  in  his  beams; 
But  try  as  he  did  every  wile, 
'This  maiden  he  failed  to  beguile, 

For  the  noble  Kahsoon  filled  her  dreams. 

And  so,  with  the  sting  and  the  smart 
Of  love  unrequited,  his  heart 

Grew  heavy  with  anguish  and  pain; 
For  his  passion  was  vivid  and  real — 
Such  as  only  the  great  gods  can  feel — 

But  he  longed  for  Ahwahnee  in  vain. 

For  the  maid  to  Kahsoon  now  was  wed; 
And  when  Owayno  heard  it,  he  said: 

"My  curse  on  the  mortals  of  Earth! 
In  winter  no  more  will  I  shine! 


167] 

In  summer,  the  maize  and  the  vine 
I  will  kill  at  the  moment  of  birth!" 

So  in  winter  he  sulked  in  his  cave 

And  no  warmth  to  the  Klamaths  he  gave. 

And  thousands  died  under  his  curse: 
But  the  fate  that  remained  for  the  rest, 
When  the  Sun-God  came  back  from  the  West, 

Was  even  a  thousand  times  worse. 

For  when,  in  the  first  days  of  Spring, 
The  maize,  vines,  and  every  green  thing 

Gave  promise  of  plenteous  store, 
Owayno's  fierce,  blistering  rays 
Beat  down  on  them  through  the  red  haze, 

And  they  withered  and  died,  evermore! 

Then  Famine  stalked  through  all  the  land, 
And  fair  California's  strand 

Was  piled  high  with  the  corpses  of  men; 
And  Kahsoon  laid  his  head  on  the  breast 
Of  Ahwahnee  and  sank  to  his  rest, 

As  he  blessed  her  again  and  again. 

And  then  came  the  terrible  rain, 
As  Owayno  now  sent  back  again 
The  waters  he's  stored  in  the  sky; 


[68] 

And  higher  and  higher  the  flood 
Rose,  until  the  whole  land  was  submerged. 
Except  one  sharp  mountain-peak  high. 

And  there  on  that  peak,  all  alone, 
Ahwahnee,  her  face  turned  to  stone, 

Sat  watching  the  black  waters  roll; 
And  she  sent  up  an  agonized  cry 
That  reached  to  the  depths  of  the  sky: 

"Kahsoon!     O,  receive  thou  my  soul!" 

Far  above,  in  the  heart  of  a  cloud, 
Heard  the  Sun-God  the  cry  of  his  love, 

And  straight  through  the  mist  and  the  rain 
He  flashed  his  bright  beams  on  the  rock 
To  which  Ahwahnee  clung,  'midst  the  shock 

Of  the  turbulent  waters,  in  vain: 

For  the  swirl  of  the  ravaging  flood 
Swept  over  the  spot  where  she  stood 

And  she  sank  'neath  the  surge  of  the  wave; 
But  she  rose  in  a  moment,  and  soon 
Felt  the  rays  of  the  God  of  the  Sun, 

And  heard  his  far-call — "I  will  save!" 

Then  on  each  drop  that  held  her  entombed 
He  focused  the  blaze  of  his  sun, 


And,  swifter  than  lightning's  sharp  glare, 
Drew  her  up  to  his  bright  home  above, 
And  cried:  "Ahwahnee!     My  light  and  my  love!" 

And  kissed  her,  and  stroked  her  soft  hair. 

v. 

And  she  lay  for  a  moment  at  rest 

'Midst  the  life-giving  beams  on  his  breast, 

Then  uplifted  her  beautiful  head; 
But  he  pressed  her  again  to  his  heart, 
And  whispered  "No  more  shall  we  part!" 

And  Ahwahnee  made  answer,  and  said: 

"Great  Sun-God,  I  owe  thee  my  life; 
And,  for  this,  will  become  now  thy  wife; 

But  I  cannot  bring  to  thee  the  boon 
Of  a  life  and  a  heart  full  of  love, 
For  true  as  the  bright  stars  above, 

I  remain  to  my  husband,  Kahsoon ! 

"  I  know  never  more  I  shall  see 
His  face,  that  is  dearer  to  me 

Than  all  else  in  that  old  world  or  this, 
But  I'm  sure  in  the  Great  Spirit's  Land, — 
Perchance  on  some  beautiful  strand — 

My  Kahsoon  walks  in  infinite  bliss!" 


The  anguish,  the  pain,  the  surprise, 
That  shone  in  Owayno's  clear  eyes, 

Moved  the  gentle  Ahwahnee  to  tears, 
And,  prostrate,  she  cried:  "Take  my  life! 

Take  my  blood! 
O  thou  noble  Sun-God! 

But  leave  me  the  love  of  past  years!" 

VI. 

/         v 

And  Owayno,  the  Sun-God,  looked  down 
On  that  fair  face  and  quivering  form, 

And  there  came  to  his  tear-bedimmed  eyes 
A  look  of  compassion,  so  tender  and  real, 
Such  as  only  the  great  gods  can  feel, 

And  as  soft  as  his  own  sunset  skies. 

And  he  lifted  her  up,  with  the  grace  of  a  god, 

And  cried:  "Kahsoon  shall  again  be  thy  husband  and  lord! 

O  Ahwahnee !    My  love  and  my  lost ! 
Ah!    It  never  was  meant  that  the  great  gods  should  win 
The  love  of  the  children  of  men ! 

O  Ahwahnee!    My  love  and  my  lost! 

"And  the  flood  on  the  earth  shall  subside 
When  my  beams  its  deep  waters  hath  dried, 
And  thy  race  shall  inherit  the  land; 


And  fairer  than  ever  before 
That  old  world  shall  be,  evermore — 
Only  blessings  shall  fall  from  my  hand. 

*  'And,  for  thy  sake,  I  never  again 
Will  withhold  from  thy  people  the  rain, 
Nor  kill  the  young  maize,  nor  the  vine; 
And  for  thy  sake,  no  more  in  the  winter 
The  Frost-God  their  wigwams  will  enter: 
And  this  promise  I  give  thee  and  thine/' 

VII. 

Then,  straight  to  the  beautiful  strand 
Of  the  Great  Spirit's  fair,  happy  land, 

He  shot  forth  the  beams  of  his  sun, 
And  they  caught  up  Kahsoon,  walking  there, 
And  swept  back  with  him,  through  the  clear  air, 

To  Owayno's  bright,  far-distant  home. 

And  there,  on  the  fleece  of  a  cloud, 
Knelt  Ahwahnee,  her  lovely  face  bowed 

In  the  passionate  longing  of  prayer; 
And  then  through  the  tremulous  gleams 
Of  the  Sun-God's  rich,  translucent  beams, 

She  saw  her  Kahsoon  standing  there. 

And  she  fell  in  his  arms  with  a  cry 

That  rang  e'en  to  the  Great  Spirit's  sky — 


[72] 

"  Kahsoon !    O  my  husband !     My  lord !" 
For  a  moment  Owayno  looked  on, 
Then  swept  from  their  sight  and  was  gone. 

And,  weeping,  they  cried — "Come  back! 
O  thou  noble  Sun-God!" 

And  out  of  the  silence  and  dazzling  flame 

Of  transcendent  splendor  and  glory,  there  came 

A  wild  echo  from  far-heights  above: 
"It  never  was  meant  that  the  great  gods  should  win 
The  love  of  the  children  of  men ! 

O  Ahwahnee!     My  lost  and  my  love!" 


And  the  Klamaths  believe  the  sweet  legend, 
And  when  the  rain  falls  on  the  parched  land, 

Bringing  promise  of  harvest  and  cheer, 
They  say:  "  'Tis  Ahwahnee,  returning 
To  Earth  with  her  love  and  her  yearning 

For  home  and  her  people,  so  dear!" 

And  when,  the  blessed  rain  over, 

The  sun  rends  the  dark  clouds  that  cover 

His  face  in  the  afternoon-sky, 
And  they  see  his  beams  drawing  up  water, 
They  cry:  "  'Tis  Ahwahnee,  our  daughter, 

Returning  to  Kahsoon  on  High!" 


[731 
TWILIGHT 

is  an  hour, 
'Twixt  daylight  and  the  dark, 

tender  recollections  come  to  me,— 
Sweet  memories  that  overpower 
All  else  of  place  or  time  or  sense. 

Soft  then  the  touch  of  her  dear  hands, 
Our  tears,  commingling,  fall  again; 

Her  soul  speaks  to  my  soul;  her  heart 
Is  bound  to  mine  with  tender  bands 

Of  love  and  joy  and  everlasting  trust. 

The  deepest  depths  are  stirred  again; 

Surpassing  fair  all  life  unto  me  seems; 
The  Present  full  of  noble  thoughts  and  aims; 

The  Future  holds  no  haunting  shadows  then; 
Gone  all  the  sorrow,  passion,  pain. 

O  twilight  hour!     I  long  for  thee 

That  I  may  live  again  those  moments  dear; 
O,  haste  thee  on  Time's  leaden  wings 

And  bring  my  lost  love  back  to  me! 

And  when  Life's  twilight  falls  on  me, 
And  death-damps  dim  my  glazing  eyes, 


[741 

And  stalking  through  the  gloom  I  see  the  specters  of 

Eternity, 

O,  let  not  memories  then  be  mine, 
But  blessed,  sweet  reality! 

Her  warm  breath  on  my  icy  cheek, 

Her  dear  lips  pressed  against  mine  own, 

Her  sobbing  farewells  in  my  failing  ear, 
Her  soft  hand  clasping  my  cold  hand, 

I'll  gently  pass  into  the  Silent  Land! 


[75] 
MOTHER-LOVE 

®E  MAY  well  say  that  love  is  the  lever 
That  moveth  this  old  world  forever. 
Yet,  love  hath  so  many  gradations, 
So  many  poor  adulterations, 
That  pure  love's  exceedingly  rare. 

There's  the  love  that  is  worldly  and  sordid, 

Where  only  one's  self  is  accorded 
The  right  to  the  best  on  Life's  table, 

And,  like  unto  the  fox  in  the  fable, 
Wants  also  the  other's  poor  share. 

And  there's  love  like  the  dog's  for  his  master, 
Whose  footsteps  he'll  follow  the  faster 

When  he  knows  there's  a  bone  to  be  given; 
And  when  he  the  choice  morsel  hath  riven, 

Will  lie  down  content  with  his  fare. 

But  there's  one  love  that's  ever  unfailing, 

Over  all  of  Life's  trials  prevailing; — 
I'm  sure  that  the  Lord  looked  on  it  and  smiled, 

When  he  gave  to  the  mother  her  love  for  her  child, 


i 


[7*1 
LOVE'S  PERFECT  WHOLE 

KNOW  a  woman  with  such  tender  eyes. 

That  just  to  gaze  into  their  deeps 
Is  like  a  glimpse  of  Paradise. 


I  know  a  woman  with  such  wondrous  lips, 
That  just  to  touch  them  with  mine  own 
Thrills  to  the  very  finger  tips. 

I  know  a  woman  with  a  smile  so  sweet, 
That  just  to  bask  in  its  bright  beams 
Fills  me  with  joy  complete. 

I  know  a  woman  with  a  heart  so  true, 

That  if  Love  can  but  enter  there 
Love  then  is  born  anew. 

I  know  a  woman  with  a  soul  so  pure, 

No  earthly  dross  can  tarnish  it, 
No  worldly  wiles  may  lure. 

And  in  this  woman's  tender  eyes, 

Her  smile  so  sweet,  her  wondrous  lips, 

Her  heart  so  true  and  her  pure  soul, 
I  find  Love's  perfect  whole. 


[77] 
LOVE'S  PASSING 


novE  came  to  my  humble  dwelling, 
Gently  tapped  upon  the  door: 
Gazed  I  at  her  from  my  window — 
Fairer  face  ne'er  seen  before! 

"Let  me  in!"  she  cried,  entreating, 
"I  have  come  to  sup  with  thee!" 

Still  I  lingered  at  the  casement, 
Till  I  could  no  longer  see. 

"Let  me  in!     The  night's  advancing! 

I  am  weary,  hungry,  cold!" 
Then  the  door  I  quickly  opened, 

Took  her  in  my  arms  so  bold, 

Set  her  down  before  the  fire, 

Placed  before  her  food  and  wine; 

All  the  room  seemed  now  transfigured 
With  celestial  light  divine. 

Then  I  knelt  beside  her  softly, 
Drew  her  close  unto  my  breast, 

Felt  her  heart-throbs,  heard  her  sighings, 
Watched  her  gently  sink  to  rest. 


Then  my  eyelids,  too,  grew  heavy; 

Fainter  now  the  firelight's  glow; 
And  without,  the  wind's  low  moaning, 

And  the  swirling,  blinding  snow. 

Into  dream-realms  now  I'm  drifting 
Bearing  Love  upon  my  heart; 

O  the  thought,  so  full  of  rapture, 
Never  more  from  her  to  part! 


Light  of  dawn  bursts  through  the  window; 

Sunbeams  fall  upon  her  head; 
Waking  now,  I  gaze  upon  her — 

God  have  mercy!    Love  is  dead! ! 


[791 
UNDERSTANDING 

QERHAPS  there'll  come  a  time, 
It  may  be  on  some  fair  far-distant  strand 
Beyond  the  portals  of  Eternal  Light, 
When  you  and  I  will  meet,  and  understand 
What  now  in  this  old  world  seems  hidden  from  our  sight. 

Ah,  then  we'll  understand 

The  why  and  wherefore  of  that  sweet  delight 
That  came  to  us,  as  comes  the  chariot  of  the  dawn 

Out  of  the  mists  and  shadows  of  the  night 
By  steeds  of  flaming  splendor  drawn, 

And  then  was  turned  to  ashes  in  our  grasp. 

Ah,  then  we'll  understand 

The  meaning  of  that  parting  clasp, — 
How  useless  were  the  tears  we  shed 

Over  dear  hours  forever  fled, 
Over  fond  hopes  now  shattered — dead! 

Yes,  some  day  from  our  eyes  the  scales  will  fall, 

And  we  shall  know  the  meaning  of  it  all — 
Some  day  we'll  understand. 


[SO] 

IF  LOVE  SHOULD  DIE 

IF  LOVE  should  die, 
What  would  become  of  this  old  world ! 
Who  then  would  heed  the  helpless  infant's  cry, 
Weak,  starving  at  a  stoic-mother's  breast? 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die, 

Where  then  the  hopes  and  longings  of  young  lives  ? — 
The  sweet  caress,  the  kiss,  the  blissful  sigh, 

The  dear,  delicious  touch  of  lovers'  hands  ? — 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die, 

Who  then  would  heavy  burdens  bear 
Of  those  who  crushed  and  bleeding  lie? — 

No  word  of  cheer,  no  pitying  eye, 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die, 

Who  then  would  heed  the  springtime  flowers  ? 
Or  song-birds  singing  in  the  sky? 

Or  catch  the  incense  on  the  summer  breeze? 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die, 
Where  then  the  power  of  moon  or  sun 


8i 


Or  glist'ning,  starry  worlds  on  high, 

To  cheer  the  weary  wanderer's  way? 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die, 

Who  then  would  watch  the  fleeting  breath 
Or  listen  to  the  last  good-bye 

Of  mortal  on  the  brink  of  Death? 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die — 

Ah,  then  all  Nature  would  be  dead, 
And  earthly  hopes  and  happiness  would  fly 

Into  the  realms  of  Chaos  and  Despair! 
If  love  should  die. 

If  love  should  die? — 

Take  courage,  doubting  heart; 
GOD  is  forever  nigh. 

His  sun  and  moon  and  stars  shine  on; 
All  Nature  radiates  His  smile: 

His  love  humanity  forever  thrills, 
And  ever-faithful,  everlasting  is: 

Strong,  sure,  eternal  as  the  hills, 
Love  shall  not,  cannot  die! 


SONGS  OF  LIFE 


THE  TIDES  OF  LIFE 

ELOOD-TIDE  of  HOPE!  Flood-tide ! 
When  all  of  Youth's  bright  dreams 
Are  surely  to  come  true  in  after  years. 
Flood-tide  of  HOPE  !     Flood-tide ! 

Flood-tide  of  FAITH  !    Flood-tide ! 
Faith  in  his  God,  his  Country  and  his  fellow-men; 
Faith  in  himself  'gainst  all  the  world. 
Flood-tide  of  FAITH  !    Flood-tide ! 

Flood-tide  of  LOVE  !    Flood-tide ! 
When  all  of  bliss  that  earth  can  hold — 
That  ever  was  or  ever  can  be — all  is  his. 
Flood-tide  of  LOVE  !    Flood- tide ! 

Flood-tide  of  WEALTH  !    Flood-tide ! 
His  Midas-touch  turns  all  to  gold, 
And  Mammon  bows  obsequious  to  his  will. 
Flood-tide  of  WEALTH  !    Flood-tide ! 

Flood-tide  of  POWER  !    Flood-tide ! 
When  to  his  purposes  and  ends 
He  bends  the  very  elements  themselves. 
Flood-tide  of  POWER  !    Flood-tide ! 


86 


Flood-tide  of  FAME  !     Flood-tide ! 

His  name  is  on  the  lips  of  all  the  world, 

And  on  Ambition's  dizzy  height  he  stands  alone. 

Flood-tide  of  FAME  !    Flood-tide ! 


Ebb-tide  of  HOPE  !    Ebb-tide ! 

Youth's  roseate  dreams  begin  to  vanish  now; 

And  Courage,  gasping  out  its  life,  dies  at  the  helm, 

And  Fear,  ascendant,  rides  the  billows  of  an  angry  sea. 

Ebb-tide  of  HOPE  !    Ebb-tide ! 

Ebb-tide  of  FAITH  !    Ebb-tide ! 

Misfortune  sears  his  soul; 

And  doubts  of  God,  of  Country,  of  his  fellow-men, 

And  of  himself  lie  heavy  on  his  breaking  heart. 

Ebb-tide  of  FAITH  !    Ebb-tide. 

Ebb-tide  of  LOVE  !    Ebb-tide ! 

He  stands  beside  the  open  grave, 

And,  one  by  one,  gives  back  to  Mother  Earth 

His  loved-ones,  all,  and  to  him  lost  for  aye. 

Ebb-tide  of  LOVE  !     Ebb-tide ! 

Ebb-tide  of  WEALTH  and  FAME  and  POWER  !     Ebb-tide ! 
In  penury  and  want  he  walks  alone,  alone! 
The  mem'ries  of  the  past  are  but  as  daggers  to  him  now. 
Ebb-tide  of  WEALTH  and  FAME  and  POWER  !    Ebb-tide ! 


[8?] 

Ebb-tide  of  LIGHT  and  TIME  and  SENSE!     Ebb-tide! 
He  gropes  in  darkness  through  the  weary  hours, 
An  infant  once  again — strange  law  of  life! 
Ebb-tide  of  LIGHT  and  TIME  and  SENSE!     Ebb-tide! 


Flood-tide  of  DARKNESS  and  of  DEATH!     Flood-tide! 

This  tired  soul  is  dropping  off  to  sleep; 

And  earthly  HOPE  and  FAITH  and  LOVE 

And  earthly  FAME  and  POWER,  are  all  forgotten  now! 

Flood-tide  of  DARKNESS  and  of  DEATH!     Flood-tide! 

Flood-tide  of  heavenly  PEACE  and  JOY!     Flood-tide! 
Upward  through  starry  worlds,  swifter  than  lightning's 

flash, 

His  spirit  wings  its  flight;  and  angel  voices  welcome  him; 
And  heavenly  HOPE  and  FAITH  and  LOVE 
And  heavenly  FAME  and  POWER,  eternally  are  his! 
Flood-tide  of  heavenly  PEACE  and  JOY  !  !     Flood-tide  ! !  ! 


[88] 
A  SABBATH  INSPIRATION 

SABBATH  stillness  falls  on  me, 
E'en  though  the  thunder  of  the  train 
Is  ever  in  mine  ears. 

The  peace  that  passeth  understanding 

Floods  every  secret  chamber  of  my  soul, 

Like  tides  of  ocean,  sweeping  o'er  the  land. 

Heart,  senses,  spirit, — every  fibre  of  my  being — 

Reflect  the  glorious  beauty  of  this  day. 

Life  never  seemed  before  so  full  of  sentient  happiness 

And  very  joy  of  living. 

I  lift  my  voice  to  God  and  thank  Him, 

From  my  very  soul  of  souls,  for  life !  life ! !  life ! ! ! 

At  peace  with  all  the  world, 
My  heart  goes  out  to  every  living  soul. 
Every  good  and  perfect  thing  on  earth 
I  would  fall  down  before  and  worship. 

All  that  in  Nature  most  delightful  is — 
The  beauties  of  the  earth,  the  sky,  the  sea — 
All,  all  appeals  to  me. 
The  aspiring  souls  of  every  race  and  clime 
Are  to  my  own  soul  knit  by  a  compelling,  boundless  sym 
pathy. 


[89] 

Leap  forth,  my  soul,  and  gather  to  thyself 

That  universe  of  souls ! 

Sweep  through  the  wide,  wide  world, 

My  heart  of  hearts,  and  draw  unto  thyself 

All  other  hearts  that  love  as  thou  dost  love! 

And  lay  thy  trophies  at  the  feet  of  Him 

Who  sitteth  on  the  Throne! 

Whose  love  all-perfect,  all-pervading  is; 

Who  is,  Himself,  the  very  Essence  of  All  Love! 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  PERSPECTIVE 

GIME  is  ever  winging, 
Hearts  are  ever  clinging 
To  the  memories  of  the  past — 
Clinging  to  the  last. 

The  past  is  dead,  my  friend: 

Dwell  not  in  it  to  the  end. 
To  the  future  turn  thine  eyes; 

See  what  in  it,  for  thee,  lies. 

It  hath  work  that  must  be  done — 

Work  from  dawn  to  set  of  sun. 
Work,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  goal, 

Inspiration  in  thy  soul 

To  do  the  thing  next  to  thy  hand. 

Let  Duty  draw  thee  with  a  silken  band — 
Not  chain  thee  with  strong  links  of  steel. 

In  all  Life's  duties  pleasure  feel. 

Thou  canst  not  live  for  self  alone 

While  poor  humanity  lies  prone 
Beneath  a  weary  weight  of  care, 

Of  pain,  of  sorrow,  of  despair. 


Thy  brother's  keeper  ever,  thou: 

For  his  shortcomings  must  allow, 
And  look  with  charity,  surpassing-kind, 

On  sins  and  errors  thou  in  him  dost  find. 

If  thou  wouldst  greater  knowledge  gain, 

If  thou  broad  culture  wouldst  attain, 
Achieve  it  with  the  noble  purpose  in  thy  soul 

To  use  it  to  uplift  the  fallen  ones:  Enroll 

Thy  talents,  knowledge,  culture,  in  the  cause 
Of  country  and  humanity  and  wiser  laws. 

Thy  Country  needs  the  best  that  thou  canst  give; 
Humanity,  instruction  how  to  live. 

So  shalt  thou  find  thy  place  in  this  old  world: 

And,  having  found,  stand  firm,  with  banner  bright  un 
furled; 

And  there  shall  rally  round  thee  hosts  of  noble  men, 
Who'll  cry  to  thee — "Lead  on  again!" 

Awake!    Arise!    Shake  off  thy  slothful  sleep! 

Work!  for  the  morn  is  here!    The  shadows  deep 
Press  close  behind  the  sun !     Soon  night  will  come, 

And  Master's  voice  will  call  the  gleaner  home! 


MY  FRIEND  INDEED 

Is  HE  who  quaffs  with  me, 
Beneath  blue  skies  serene, 
Life's  brimming  cup  of  joy, 
And  walks  with  me  when  Fortune  smiles, 
My  friend?     Perhaps! 

But  when  the  skies  are  overcast 

And  thunders  mutter  and  the  lightnings  flash, 

And  fickle  Fortune's  smile  hath  vanished,  quite, 

And  with  adversity  and  pain  I  fight 

And  drink  the  bitter  dregs  of  Sorrow's  cup — 

Who  stands  beside  me  like  the  rock? 

And  whispers — "Lean  on  me,  thou  stricken  one!" 

And  cheers  me,  comforts  me,  consoles? 

He  is  my  friend  in  very  deed: 

I  have  no  need  to  say — "Perhaps!" 


[93] 
ADVERSITY 

GHE  TRAIN  sweeps  past 
A  corn-field  stricken  by  the  blast. 
Each  stalk  hath  bowed  its  head, 
E  'en  to  the  very  ground. 
Soon  'twill  be  withered,  dead; 
No  care  may  save,  no  help  be  found. 

Ah  me!  the  bitter  thought 

Of  that  poor  husbandman 
As  he  surveys  the  ruin  wrought 

By  forces  he  must  bow  before 
As  did  those  stalks  but  yesterday — 

Bright  hopes  of  harvest,  fled  forevermore; 
The  fruits  of  labor  turned  to  swift  decay. 

Ah  me !  the  world- worn  sons  of  men 

Who  bow  before  the  blast 
Of  elemental  forces,  far  beyond  their  ken; 

Who  see  the  fruits  of  life-long  toil 
Turn  into  dust  and  ashes  at  the  end: 

Who  stand  beside  the  open  grave 
And  hear  the  clods  upon  their  dear  dead  fall, 

And  feel  that  all  the  care  and  tenderness 

They've  lavished  on  the  lifeless-one  hath  been  in  vain; 


And  in  their  anguish,  desolation,  pain, 

Cry  to  the  heavens  to  give  them  back  again 
Those  they  have  lost  for  aye. 

O  stricken  soul,  look  up  into  the  sky! 

Beyond  the  stars  the  Father  stands 
And  welcomes  to  celestial  lands, 

The  weary,  toil-worn  sons  of  men. 
Have  faith  and  hope,  and  thou  shalt  find 

Amid  Life's  stress  and  wild  alarms, 
Beneath  thee,  ever  strong  and  sure, 

His  tender,  everlasting  arms! 


[951 
ODE  TO  DEATH 

Qo  MORTAL  yet  hath  conquered  thee,  O  Death! 
No  mortal  bribed  thee,  ever. 
But  some  have  gone  to  thy  embrace  with  shouts 

of  victory 

Upon  their  lips.     With  hands  outstretched  have  some, 
Discouraged,  tired  of  life,  entreated  thee  to  take  them  from 
The  world.     Others,  in  abject  terror,  have  groveled  in  the 

dust 
At  thy  approach  and  begged  thee  for  a  few  more  fleeting 

hours. 

And  some  have  gladly  given  themselves  to  thee 
That  others  might  a  little  longer  live. 
Mothers,  in  awful  anguish,  have  plead  with  thee 
To  loose  thy  icy  clutch  on  children's  throats; 
Fathers  have  plead  for  sons,  sisters  for  brothers,  friends  for 
Friends.    Yet  wert  thou  still  inexorable,  O  cruel  Death! 
For  thou  hast  claimed  them  all — hast  taken  them,  every 

one. 

But  where, — where  hast  thou  taken  them,  O  Death? 
Are  they  as  naught, — insentient  atoms  lost  in  stygian 

shades? 

Or  do  their  disembodied  spirits  walk  in  Fields  Elysian 
'Mongst   fragrant   flowers   which    thy    touch   canst   not 

wither  ? 

Answer,  O  Death ! — Answer  this  cry  of  sorrow-smitten  sons  of 
Men  through  all  the  ages! 


[96] 

MY  COUNTRY 

Lines  written  on  entering  New  York  Harbor  after  a  trip  to  Europe. 

CHROUGH  the  long  morning  hours 
The  dense,  cold  fog  has  mantled  our  great  ship, 
Shutting  from  eager  eyes  the  shores  of  that  dear 
land 

We  long  again  to  see. 

And  now,  at  last,  we've  shaken  off  that  fleecy  garment 
Of  the  deep, 

And  standing  with  upraised  arm,  full  in  the  forefront 
Of  our  view, 
A  mighty  statue  looms  majestic  in  the  noonday  sun. 

Colossal  warder  of  that  teeming  mart  she  stands, 
Holding  aloft  her  burnished  torch  to  enlighten  all  the 

world. 
And,  as  with  glistening  eyes  we  gaze  on  her,  she  seems  to 

say: 
"Beyond  me  lies  thy  heritage,  thy  native  home,  dear  land 

of  liberty! 
Not  quite  three  hundred  years  agone,  a  trackless,  silent 

waste,  was  here: 

A  silence  broken  only  by  the  shouts  of  savage  men 
More  cruel   than   the    beasts  of  prey   themselves    that 

roamed  the  forests  vast. 


L97J 

"And  then  proud  nobles  came  from  far-off  Albion's  Isle, 
with  charters  from  the  King, 

And  founded  in  Virginia's  wilds  a  home; 

And  towns  sprang  up,  only  to  be  laid  low  again  by  ruth 
less  Indian  bands. 

"And  now  the  fame  of  this  new  land  is  wafted  back  to 

England  old, 
And  Pilgrim  Fathers  cross  the  wintry  seas — fleeing  from 

persecutions  dire — 

To  seek  upon  New  England's  shores,  'Freedom  to  wor 
ship  God!' 

And  then,  from  horrors  of  red  Saint  Bartholomew, 
A  wretched  band  of  Hugenots  brave  the  ocean-wastes 
And  find  a  refuge  on  fair  Carolina's  coast. 

"With  famine,  pestilence,  and  ambush  of  relentless  foes, 

Did  these  three  groups  of  exiles  bravely  fight; 

Each  from  the  other  sundered  by  primeval  forests  dense, 

Yet  each  with  aims  and  purposes  the  same — 

To  wrest  from  Nature  and  the  hands  of  barbarous  men, 

a  great  domain, 
Wherein  should  dwell  freedom  of  conscience,  equal  rights, 

and  brotherhood  fraternal. 


[98] 

"Thus,  from  the  loins  of  those  tried  men  and  true. 

The  nucleus  of  a  nation  sprang: 

And  when  oppression's  heavy  hand  was  by  the  Mother- 
Country  on  them  laid. 

The  Thirteen  Colonies,  as  a  single  man,  rose  in  their  might 

And  broke  the  bonds  that  held  them  to  that  nation 
old  across  the  sea. 

For  independence  then  they  cried!  For  independence, 
through  long  years, 

They  fought  and  bled  and  died ! 

"Then,  from  the  fiery  crucible  of  war,  a  nation  great  was 
born; 

Whose  hands,  outstretched  across  the  sea,  beckoned  to  all 
the  oppressed  to  come 

And  taste  the  sweets  of  freedom  'neath  the  stripes  and 
stars. 

And  Erin's  famine-stricken  sons  replied;  and  Polish  Pa 
triots  took  up  the  cry; 

And  Teuton  Races  caught  the  glad  refrain;  and  swarthy 
sons  of  Italy, 

Striking  hands  with  Norsemen's  children,  hither  came; 

All  finding  in  this  favored  land  that  which  the  lands  of 
their  nativity  denied. 


[99l 

"Almost  a  century  hath  flown;  and  with  the  years 

The   Nation's   fame   hath   reached   to   earth's   remotest 

bounds 
And  she  become  the  wonder  of  the  world. 

"And  yet,  within  her  breast,  she  bears  a  festering  wound 

That  threatens  e'en  the  Union's  life  itself. 

And  now,  black  clouds  of  civil  war  roll  upward  to  the 

heavens. 

To  cut  away  this  cancerous  growth  men  into  battle  rush: 
Brother  strives  with  brother,  father  slaughters  son,  upon 

the  bloody  field. 
The  North  and  South  divided  stand,  and  all  the  world 

looks  on,  with  bated  breath, 
As  mighty  hosts  of  armed  men  reel  'midst  the  shock  of  war. 

"Four  years  of  bitter  strife — two  million  men  have  given 

up  their  lives — 
Then  comes  the  end.     A  mighty  shout  goes  thund'ring 

round  the  world — 
'The  Union's  saved!    And  Slavery  is  forever  dead!' 

"And  now,  regenerated,  free,  the  Nation  sets  her  face 

again 

Toward  the  mark  of  her  high  destiny. 
Great  enterprises  spring  up  in  a  single  night,  and  wealth 

is  multiplied  a  thousandfold. 


[100] 

Where  once  the  Red-Man  made  his  stealthy  way  along 
some  secret  by-path, 

The  iron-horse  now  rushes  onward  with  terrific  speed. 

And  thus  the  plains  and  mountains  of  the  West  are  con 
quered, 

E'en  to  the  broad  Pacific's  rim — the  Nation's  breast  ex 
panding  with  the  years." 

This,  then,  the  land,  and  this  its  people  free, 
Which  thou  art  placed  to  guard,  O  statue  great! 
Fulfill  thy  mission  grand  through  all  the  coming  years! 
Let  thy  illumined  torch  be  Freedom's  light,  enlightening 

every  man  who  cometh  to  thee 
Seeking  here  a  home  free  from  Oppression's  hand! 
Send  forth  its  dazzling  rays  into  the  darkest  corners  of 

the  globe, 
Until  the  enslaved  souls  of  every  race  and  clime  shall 

bathe  in  the  divine  effulgence  of  its  beams, 
And,  seeing,  shall  take  heart  again  and  cry — "America! 

The  hope  of  all  the  world!" 


[ibij 
THE  CALL 

^^•^EAREST  again  the  call,  my  soul? — 
W     I     The  call  that  through  long  years 
* — <S»  Hath  sounded  in  thine  ears 

Like  far-off  thunder's  roll  ? 
Hearest  again  the  call  ? 

And  wilt  thou  shrink  again  and  fall  ? 

Hearest  again  the  call,  my  soul? 

Shall  thickets  dark  beset  again  thy  way, 
Without  one  friendly  ray 

To  guide  thee  to  the  goal  ? — 
Without  one  gleam  to  cheer  thee  on 

To  meet  the  Glorious  Dawn? 

Hearest  again  the  call,  my  soul? 

Awake !    Arise ! 
Gaze  into  Freedom's  eyes! 

From  her  thy  inspiration  draw; 
Lay  every  weight  aside, 

Stay  Greed's  besetting  tide 
Forevermore! 

Hearest  again  the  call,  my  soul? 

Awake!    Arise!    Put  on  thy  strength, 
Until  at  length 


[102] 

Thou  standest  in  the  forefront  of  the  fray 
Ready  the  foe  to  smite, — 

Ready  to  die  for  Freedom's  sway! 

Hearest  again  the  call,  my  soul  ? 

Then  plunge  into  the  strife! 
Fight  for  thy  Country's  life! 

Grapple  with  those  who  dare 
E'en  her  dishonor  share! 

Strike  in  the  gathering  gloom ! 
Strike  with  the  sword  of  doom ! 

Hearest  again  the  call,  my  soul  ? 

O'er  thee  her  banner  see — 
Stars,  stripes,  forever  free! 

And,  ringing  in  the  sky, 
Hear  thou  God's  battle-cry! 

See  thou  His  fiery  cross  flaming  on  high! 
Hark  thou!    He  calls  to  thee: 

"This  sign  shall  ever  be  token  of  Victory!" 


IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  GREEN  SHENANDOAH 

is  NIGHT  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 

From  the  south  comes  the  rumble  and  roar 
Of  the  guns  of  the  battling  hosts, — 
Contending  for  mastery  there 
Of  a  valley  more  wondrously  fair 

Than  those  far-famed  Ausonian  coasts. 

And  the  night-wind's  soft  sigh  in  the  trees, 

And  those  stars  the  young  sentinel  sees 
In  the  depths  of  the  infinite  dome, 

Bring  thoughts  of  the  coming  of  peace, 
When  war,  with  its  horrors,  shall  cease — 

Bring  visions  of  mother  and  home. 

'Tis  night  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 

And  nearer  the  rumble  and  roar 
Of  the  guns  of  the  battling  hosts: 

And  fainter  the  low  camp-fire  gleams 
In  the  eyes  of  that  golden-haired  boy, 

As  he  sinks  into  slumber  and  dreams 
Of  mother  and  home-coming  joy. 

'Tis  night  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 
And  nearer  and  nearer  the  rumble  and  roar 

Of  the  guns  of  the  battling  hosts: 

But  that  golden-haired  sentinel  sleeps 


[I04] 

As  the  light  of  the  dawn  slowly  creeps 
O'er  the  hills  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

Asleep  at  his  post  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 

And  nearer,  still  nearer,  the  rumble  and  roar 
Of  the  guns  of  the  battling  hosts — 

Awake,  boy!    Awake!  or  else  nevermore 
Look  the  world  in  the  face.     O,  the  awful  disgrace ! 

Awake,  boy!    Awake!     From  thy  fair  name  efface 
The  shame  of  this  night! 

Awake,  boy!    Awake!    Think  of  mother  and  home! 
Awake,  boy!    Awake!    For  the  morning  is  come 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah! 

But  his  corporal  finds  him  asleep  on  the  ground; 

And  he  wakes  with  a  start  at  the  ominous  sound 
Of  the  grounding  of  arms  and  the  word  of  command, 

As  they  wrest  from  his  nerveless  and  trembling  hand 
The  musket  he's  borne  in  the  terrible  fight 

For  country  and  home,  for  freedom  and  right: 
And,  quaking,  he  reads  in  his  captain's  stern  eye 

The  miserable  death  that  the  faithless  must  die 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

***** 

'Tis  morn  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 

And  nearer,  still  nearer,  the  rumble  and  roar 
Of  the  guns  of  the  battling  hosts. 


And  afar  in  the  "City  of  Penn", 
A  sore-stricken  mother,  in  prayer, 

Begs  the  great  God  of  Battles  to  spare 
Her  boy  who  must  die  on  the  morrow  at  ten 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 
***** 

Tis  noon  at  the  Capital's  seat: 

Up  the  steps,  through  the  dust  and  the  heat, 
A  woman  with  silvery  hair,  bowed  down  with  a  weight  of 
despair, 

Is  wending  her  way  to  the  great  White  House  there, 
To  beg  and  to  plead,  again  and  again, 

That  her  boy  may  not  die  on  the  morrow  at  ten 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

But  she's  stopped  at  the  portal: 

"Mr.  Lincoln  is  busy.     He  cannot  be  seen," 
The  orderly  said.     "O  sir,  you  can't  mean 

That  I've  come  all  in  vain!     O  my  darling!  my  son!" 
The  orderly  answered — "A  great  battle  is  on; 

The  Union  is  lost  if  by  traitors  'tis  won 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah!" 

And  there  on  her  knees,  with  face  bowed  in  the  dust, 
That  poor  mother  prayed  to  her  God,  great  and  just, 

That  the  Union  might  live,  that  the  battle  be  won — 
"O  God!  Save  the  nation!  Take  even  my  son! 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah!" 


[106] 

Then  she  lifts  her  tired  head,  and  her  world-weary  eyes, 
And  lo!  they  are  filled  with  o'erwhelming  surprise: 

For  above  her  is  towering  a  gigantic  form, 

With  face  sad  and  furrowed,  and  scarred  by  the  storm 

Of  the  conflict  that's  raging  on  fields  drenched  with  gore, 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

And  he  lifted  her  up,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears 

As  she  clung  to  his  hands,  but  he  calmed  all  her  fears, 
And  tenderly  laid  her  old  head  on  his  breast, 

And  whispered — "There,   there,  little  mother!     Now 

rest!" 
Then  he  asked  her  the  name,  and  called  for  a  pen, 

And  said — "Your  boy  shall  not  die  on  the  morrow  at  ten 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah!" 
*        *        *        *        * 

'Tis  noon  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 
And  into  the  valley,  with  rush  and  with  roar, 

Sweeps  the  panic-struck  army  in  headlong  retreat. 

Great  God!     Can  nothing  now  stay  those  swift-flying 
feet? 

"The  Union  is  lost!" — the  wild  cry  rings  out, 
And  the  on-coming  rebels  exultantly  shout 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

"The  Union  is  lost!"     See!  her  bright  colors  fall! 
The  bearer  lies  pierced  by  a  swift  minie  ball. 


do?) 

Ah,  no!    All's  not  lost!     See!  those  bright  colors  rise! 

A  golden-haired  boy,  with  clear,  flashing  eyes, 
Waves  the  old  flag  aloft  with  his  manacled  hands, 

And  shouts,  to  the  left  and  the  right,  quick  commands, 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

"Come  back!    O,  come  back  to  the  colors  again! 

Come  back !     O,  come  back !     Wipe  out  this  foul  stain !" 
And  through  the  dun  smoke  and  the  cannon's  red-crash 

And  the  bullets'  swift-whir  and  the  sabers'  bright-flash, 
They  hear  that  stentorian  call  ringing  out, 

They  rally  around  him  with  thunderous  shout — 
The  rebel  hordes  wheel!     In  mad  terror  they  run! 

The  Union  is  savecl!     The  battle  is  won 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah! 

***** 

'Tis  morn  on  the  green  Shenandoah: 

And  silent  forever  the  rumble  and  roar 
Of  the  guns  of  the  battling  hosts. 

But  hark  to  the  sound  of  that  muffled  drum! 
And  see,  with  th-at  golden-haired  boy  they  now  come 

Far  down  the  long  line  of  battle-scarred  men, 
All  breathlessly  waiting  the  stroke  of  ten 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah! 

By  a  deep,  open  grave  they  are  binding  him  there: 
Blindfolded  he  stands,  with  his  bright  golden  hair, 


[io8] 

That  shimmers  and  gleams  in  the  hot  morning  sun — 

What  boots  it  to  him  that  the  battle  is  won? 
That  his  comrades  are  muttering  and  cursing,  and  say — 
'Twas  this  same  fair-haired  boy  that  saved  us  the  day 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah!" 


"One!"     The  fatal  number  rings  upon  his  ears; 

"Two!"     He  sees  his  mother,  toiling  through  the  years; 
"Three!"     He  prays  for  her  with  his  last  fleeting  breath; 

He  feels  upon  his  throat  the  icy  clutch  of  Death: 
The  final  word  is  on  the  lips  of  that  grim  man-at-arms, 

And  twenty  gleaming  muskets,  levelled  at  his  breast, 
Await  that  word  which  ushers  him  to  rest 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

Speak  not  that  word,  O  captain,  stern ! 

Speak  not  that  word,  and  thou  shalt  learn 
That  God  reigns  in  His  sky! 

For  through  the  ranks  goes  up  the  cry — 
"Hold,  sergeant!    Hold!    The  President!  !" 

And  then,  as  if  from  Heaven  sent, 
Strides  down  the  line  of  smoke-grimed  men, 

A  figure  with  majestic  mien, 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 

And  on  his  arm  a  woman,  bowed  with  years, 
And  at  the  sight  the  blinding  tears 


[109] 

Roll  down  the  cheeks  of  those  war-hardened  men. 

And  now  the  shout  goes  up  again — 

"The  President!    The  President!     God  bless  the  Presi 
dent!" 

And  Lincoln,  dim-eyed,  on  those  eager  faces  gazed  intent, 
Then  said — "Loose  him!    He's  colonel  of  his  regiment!" 

And  straightway  gave  him  his  commission  there; 
Then,  son  and  mother,  by  that  open  grave,  knelt  down  in 
silent  prayer. 

Then  from  that  shattered   army's  throat  a  song  arose, 

with  one  accord — 
"cMine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 

Lord, 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath 

are  stored, 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift 

sword!' 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah!" 

And  a  woman's  voice  took  up  the  song,  in  a  high  and 

quavering  key — 
"cln  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across 

the  sea, 

With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me: 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men 

free' 
In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah!" 


[no] 

Fifty  long  years  have  passed  and  gone 

Since  that  valley  rang  with  the  victors*  song; 
And  that  fair-haired  boy,  with  his  manacled  hands, 

Snatched  the  Flag  from  the  dust  and  gave  commands 
That  won  the  battle  and  turned  the  tide, 

Where  the  Blue  and  the  Gray  sleep  side  by  side; 
But  the  Old  Flag  still  floats  on  the  soft  southern  breeze, 

And  the  night-winds  still  whisper  and  sigh  in  the  trees, 
And  the  night-stars  still  glisten  and  gleam  as  of  yore, 

In  the  vale  of  the  green  Shenandoah. 


[Ill] 

THE  FLAG 

GHE  FLAG!    The  Flag!  !    The  Flag!  !  ! 
My  Flag!     Your  Flag!    Our  Flag! 
Live  and  die  beneath  its  folds! 
For  it  the  future  holds 
Deeds  of  glory  yet  untold! 

The  Flag!    The  Flag!  !    The  Flag!  !  ! 

My  Flag!    Your  Flag!    Our  Flag! 
See  how  God's  firmament 

Hath  to  our  emblem  lent 
Its  stripes  and  stars! 

The  Flag!    The  Flag!  !    The  Flag!  !  ! 

My  Flag!    Your  Flag!    Our  Flag! 
Til  love  it  while  I  live, — 

My  very  heart's  blood  give 
Ere  it  shall  trail  the  dust! 

The  Flag!    The  Flag!  !    The  Flag!  !  ! 

My  Flag !    Your  Flag !    Our  Flag ! 
O,  let  my  dying  eyes 

Gaze  on  it  to  the  end ! 
Then,  sweeping  through  the  skies, 

I'll  bear  it,  e'en  to  Paradise! 


[112] 

LIFE'S  JOURNEY 

CHE  YOUNG  man  laughs  with  boyish  glee; 
With  merry  tales,  with  jestings  free, 
The  moments  pass,  the  hours  flee; 
Good-fellowship  here  reigns  supreme: 
We  speed  along,  as  in  a  dream, 
Across  the  Lake,  whose  waters  gleam 
Like  myriad  jewels  in  the  sun. 

And  now,  the  first  lap  of  our  journey  done, 

Our  iron-courser  stops  to  rest: 

And  far  behind  us  in  the  west 

The  desert  lies;  the  snowy  crest 

Of  towering  mountains  greets  us  here, 

And  rushing  river,  crystal-clear — 

And  farther  east,  another  desert,  drear. 

The  young  man  weeps!    O  bitter  tear! 

Dumb  with  heart-breaking  anguish,  weak,  he  stands, 

The  fatal  message  crushed  within  his  hands — 

"Our  mother  died  today!" 

And  as  he  reads,  each  ray 

Of  light  seems  blotted  from  the  world, 

And  he  into  the  outer  darkness  hurled. 

"Ah,  this  is  life!"  he  faintly  said: 

"An  hour  ago  in  song  and  jest  I  led, 

And  there,  at  home,  my  dear  old  mother,  dead!" 


[H3] 

Ah,  yes,  poor  boy,  'tis  life! 
With  joy  and  pain  each  hour  is  rife: — 
O,  who  can  solve  the  riddle  of  it  all  ? 
Before  the  awful  mystery  of  death  I  fall 
Helpless  upon  my  knees;  and,  in  my  anguish,  call 
Through  the  black  shadows  of  this  earthly  night — 
"Dear  Father,  take  my  hand!     Guide  me  aright 
Through  this  bewildering  maze  of  life  and  death 
Into  Eternal  Light!" 


THANKSGIVING  DAY 


DAY  again  is  here  — 
Great  Festival  of  all  the  year! 
The  day  when  sons  and  daughters  come 
To  the  dear,  ne'er-forgotten  home. 

No  other  home  is  just  like  this, 

Whether  of  high  or  low  degree; 
Where'er  we  roam,  by  land  or  sea, 

'Tis  this  abode  we  ever  miss. 

Here  played  we  in  the  days  long  gone, 
Here  prayed  we  at  our  mother's  knee,  — 

Through  blinding  tears  her  face  we  see; 
On  places  vacant  now  we  gaze  forlorn. 

The  faded  years  have  bitter  lessons  taught, 
And  fleeting  time  hath  left  its  scar  and  sting, 

But  still  Thanksgiving  never  fails  to  bring 
A  joy  to  which  all  other  joys  are  naught. 

Ah!  who  can  sing  the  praises  of  that  tie 
Which  binds  the  hearts  of  kindred  dear 

Upon  this  day  of  feasting  and  good  cheer? 
O,  when  that  tie  is  severed,  I  would  die! 

We  greet  again  Thanksgiving,  then  : 
We  thank  the  Giver  of  All  Good 


For  life,  for  health,  for  raiment,  food, 
For  friendships  'mongst  the  sons  of  men, 

And  when  for  us  Thanksgivings  end, 
And  sundered  earthly  ties  for  aye, 

A  long,  sweet,  blest  Thanksgiving  Day 
Beyond  the  stars  we'll  spend! 


[n6] 
MY  SYMPHONY 

I  DO   NOT  ask  for  power: 
I  do  not  crave  an  hour 
When  men  shall  bow  the  knee 
For  something  I  have  done 
That  hath  their  praises  won. 

I  would  all-powerful  be 

Only  to  those  I  see 
Stricken  by  sorrow's  rod, 

Losing  their  hold  on  God, 
Shorn  by  adversity. 

For  these  I  ask  for  power — 
To  cheer  them  in  life's  fray, 

To  help  them  on  their  way 
Unto  a  brighter  day. 

I  do  not  ask  for  gold 

That  I  may  wealthy  be; 
Only  that  I  may  see 

With  eyes  of  chanty 
Those  whom  my  gold  may  help — 

Friends  who  have  less  than  I, 
Causes  that  to  me  cry, 


[II?] 

Poverty  forever  nigh — 
For  these  I  ask  for  wealth. 

I  do  not  ask  for  fame — 

That  I  recorded  be 
In  Time's  Great  History — 

Only  that  men  shall  say 
Over  my  lifeless  clay: 

"He  did  his  little  part, 

He  touched  the  throbbing  heart 
Of  all  humanity, — 

This  is  his  fame!" 

I  do  not  ask  for  love — 

Only  as  it  may  prove 
A  stepping-stone  to  that  above; 

Love  for  those  near  to  me, 
Love  for  my  country  free, 

Love  for  humanity. 

Ah!  this  my  song  shall  be, 

Cheering  and  strengthening  me 

Unto  the  end: 

Then  in  that  symphony 

Of  His  great  love  for  me, 
Through  all  Eternity, 

My  song  shall  blend! 


•      [n8] 
NEW  YEARNS  EVE 

OTHE  years,  the  flying  years! 
O  the  tears,  the  bitter  tears! 
Years  that  never  come  again, 
Tears  that  fall,  and  fall  in  vain — 
O  the  barren  years! 

O  the  bitter  tears! 

What  is  life  to  me? 

O  the  years,  the  flying  years ! 

O  the  troubles  and  the  fears! 
Years  of  promise  ne'er  fulfilled, 

Years  with  hopes  forever  chilled — 
O  the  troublous  years! 

O  the  haunting  fears! 
What  is  life  to  me? 

Yes,  the  years  are  flying! 

Sad  heart,  cease  thy  crying! 
Think  not  of  the  past 

With  its  bitter  tears, 
With  its  troubles,  fears; 

//  will  never  come  again! 

Face  the  coming  years  bravely  to  the  last 
Keep  thy  soul,  thy  name, 


Spotless, — without  stain. 

Life  shall  blessed  be. 
Fears  and  troubles  flee 

With  the  flying  years: 
Heaven's  eternal  peace 

At  the  end  appears! 


[I20J 

NIGHT 

GHE  NIGHT  falls: 
She  folds 
Her  sensuous  arms  about  me 
And  holds 
Me  fast  in  dark  embrace; 

Her  ebon  heart  beats  full 
Against  my  breast; 

Her  fingers  rest 
With  somber  touch 

Upon  my  weary  eyes; 
And  Nature's  voices, 

At  her  call, 

Bid  me  to  balmy  sleep — 
To  rest !    To  sleep !    To  dream ! 

To  rest — after  the  toils  and  troubles  of  the  day; 
To  sleep — in  blest  indifference  to  grinding  cares 
And  sins  and  strifes  of  waking  hours  forever  fled; 
To  dream — of  happy  things  that  came,  perchance, 
Like  flecks  of  sunshine  o'er  the  summer  fields 
When  storm-clouds  lower — 

Sweet  intercourse  with  'genial  friends, 
Or  music's  soft,  delicious  spell, 

Or  love's  illuminating  thrill, 
Or  walks  among  God's  trees  and  flowers. 


[121] 

Ah,  what  a  legacy  dost  thou  bestow, 

O  slumbrous  Night,  on  all  mankind! — 
The  power  of  dear  forgetfulness; 

Recuperation  for  tomorrow's  battle; 
And,  through  the  silent  hours,  sweet  dreamings  of  past 
happiness  and  bliss. 

Sleep  on,  thou  tired  spirit,  sleep! 

Dream  on !     Dream  on !    And  rest ! 
Tomorrow's  rising  sun  shall  wake  thee, 

Tomorrow's  sin  and  toil  await  thee — 
Dream  on!     Dream  on!    And  rest1. 

So  sleep  thou  on  through  earthly  nights, — 

Sleep  on  and  dream  and  rest ! 
And  when  the  night  of  Death  shall  fall, 

And  thou  dost  feel  her  ghastly  arms  enfold  thee, 
Her  leaden  heart-beats  'gainst  thy  weary  breast, 

Her  icy  fingers  on  thine  eyelids  laid, 
Sink  thou  to  sleep  and  rest! 

Dream  on!     Dream  on! 

Dream  of  the  coming  morn ! 
Dream  of  the  day  whose  sun  shall  never  set, — 

When  sin  and  pain  and  toil  and  care 
Shall  flee  eternally  away 

Before  the  dazzling  splendor  of  God's  smile! 
Dream  on!     Dream  on!    And  rest! 


[122] 

WEARINESS 

Y  SPIRIT  faints  beneath  its  load  of  care; 

An  avalanche  of  trouble  bears  me  down; 
There  is  no  surcease  anywhere; 
I  rest  'neath  Fortune's  sullen  frown. 

All  Nature  to  me  lifeless  seems; — 
The  woodland  streams  and  sunset-skies 

Are  only  filmy,  faded  dreams 
I  gaze  upon  with  listless  eyes. 

And  strains  of  sweetest  music  fall 

Unheeded  on  my  deadened  ear; 
The  morning  song-bird's  gladsome  call 

No  more  my  tired  soul  doth  cheer. 

Ye  Gods  of  Strength,  come  back  to  me! 

Ye  Gods  of  Vigor,  touch  my  brain ! 
And  resurrect  me,  strong  and  free, 

To  battle  with  the  world  again ! 


[I23J 

A  CHRISTMAS  SONG 

no!  FOR  the  cheer  of  Christmas-time! 
When  the  bells  ring  out  in  a  glad,  sweet  chime, 
A  message  to  all  of  goodwill  sublime — 
Ho!  for  the  cheer  of  Christmas-time! 

Ho!  for  the  peace  of  Christmas-time! 
For  peace  o'er  all  the  restless  earth 
Through  a  heaven-sent,  loving  Savior's  birth — 
Ho!  for  the  peace  of  Christmas-time! 

Ho!  for  the  joy  of  Christmas-time! 
When  children's  voices  chant  and  sing 
The  praises  of  the  Christ-Child  King — 
Ho!  for  the  joy  of  Christmas-time! 

Ho!  for  the  love  of  Christmas-time! 
A  love  that  encompasses  all  the  Race — 
The  rich  and  the  poor,  with  redeeming  grace — 
Ho!  for  the  love  of  Christmas-time! 

Ho!  for  the  hope  of  Christmas-time! 
That,  at  the  end  of  our  earthly  road, 
We'll  lay  down  our  heavy,  weary  load, 
And  enter  the  many  mansions  fair, 
To  find  an  eternal  Christmas  there! 


SUCCESS 

c^" *^HAT  is  success?"  the  young  man  cries: 

"Success,"  the  multi-millionaire  replies, 
Is  the  ability  to  keep  what  one  has  gained; 
Nor  once  permit  business  with  sentiment  to  blend — 

That  is  success!" 

"What  is  success?"  the  maiden  cries: 

"Success,"  the  gilded-butterfly  replies, 
"Is  the  ability  to  keep  the  sterner  sex 

Forever  at  your  feet, 

And  then  to  choose  at  last,  wealth,  title,  power — 
That  is  success!" 

"What  is  success?"  the  student  cries: 

"Success,"  the  deeply-learned  man  replies, 

"Is  the  ability  to  draw  that  power  from  knowledge  which 
shall  overawe  a  wondering  world — 

That  is  success!" 

"What  is  success?"  the  outcast  cries: 

"Success,"  the  unsuccessful  man  replies, 
"Is  the  ability  to  touch  a  hardened  soul  like  thine, 

And  set  thy  stumbling  feet  upon  the  rock — 
That  is  success!" 

This  then  is  the  great  lesson  all  must  learn : 
Success  lies  in  man's  helpfulness  and  love. 


And  knowledge,  title,  power,  are  not  life's  greatest  goal. 

For,  though  devoid  of  these,  in  Heaven's  eyes 
Thou  mayst  successful  be,  e'en  though  to  all  the  world 

Thou  art  become  an  unsuccessful  castaway! 


126 


REST 

"  O,  for  the  wings  of  a  Jove,  for  then  would  I  fly  away  and  be  at  rest. ' 

O  WHERE  shall  I  find  rest? 
With  spirit  sore  distressed 
I  lift  my  weary  eyes  unto  the  hills, 
For  rest,  sweet  rest! 

O,  where  shall  I  find  rest? 
With  troubled  soul,  oppressed, 
I  cry  to  the  vast  ocean-waste, 
For  rest,  dear  rest! 

O,  where  shall  I  find  rest? 

With  tired  brain,  depressed, 

I  wander  on  through  springtime-fields, 

For  rest,  soft  rest! 

O,  where  shall  I  find  rest? 

With  aching  heart,  unblest, 

I  lose  myself  in  summer- forests  dark, 

For  rest,  kind  rest! 

O,  where  shall  I  find  rest? 
In  fitful  dreams  I  take  the  morning's  wings 
And  fly  to  earth's  remotest  bounds, 
For  rest,  loved  rest! 


[12?] 

O,  where  shall  I  find  rest? 

Nor  mountain-height,  nor  ocean-waste, 

Nor  springtime-fields,  nor  forests  dark, 

Nor  all  of  earth's  immensity, 

Give  answer  to  my  cry! 

O,  where  shall  I  find  rest? 

In  dumb  despair  I  raise  my  heavy  hands  to  heaven, 

And  lo !  out  of  those  deeps  of  blue, 

There  comes  an  answer  to  my  prayer: 

Resounding  through  the  ambient  dome 
A  VOICE,  majestic,  makes  reply — 
"My  son,  up  here,  beyond  the  stars  supernal, 
There  yet  remains  for  thee  a  rest, — 
Sweet  rest,  eternal!" 


PEACE 

CEACE,  perfect  peace  is  here! 
Bright  visions  of  a  yester-year 
Come  trooping  o'er  my  soul, 
And  deathless  memories  unroll 
Sweet  pictures  of  a  long-ago. 

The  troubles,  worries,  and  the  fret 
Of  intervening  years  I  can  forget 

In  this  dear,  hallowed  place; 
The  pain  and  sorrow  all  efface, 

That  came  with  manhood's  battling  strife. 

Ah,  yes,  'tis  perfect  peace! 

'Mid  childhood  scenes  I  find  surcease; 
Here  evermore  I  fain  would  rest, 

Here  dream  the  dreams  of  boyhood  blest, 
Here  sink,  at  last,  into  Eternal  Peace! 


[I29] 

SLEEP 

SLEEP  doth  bind  mine  eyes — 
Ah!  then  I  can  forget 
The  grinding  care,  the  weary  task, 
The  turmoil,  hurry,  fret, 
Of  these  long  daylight  hours — 
When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes. 

When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes, 

I  can  forget 
The  breaking  hearts,  the  wasted  lives, 

The  homes  where  love  is  never  met 
And  only  sodden  souls  do  dwell — 

When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes. 

When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes, 

I  can  forget 
The  countless  failures  of  the  past; 

The  bitter  loss,  the  vain  regret — 
Those  haunting  ghosts  of  memory — 

When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes. 

When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes, 

I  can  forget 
The  faithless  friends,  with  promises  unkept, 

Who  held  the  poisoned  chalice  to  my  lips  and  let 


Me  drink,  e'en  to  the  bitter  dregs — 
When  sleep  doth  bind  mine  eyes. 

Come,  blessed  sleep,  and  bind  mine  eyes! 

Let  me  forget 
That  I  have  ever  dwelt  in  tenement  of  clay: 

Lead  thou  me  gently  on  thy  dreamy  way, 
And  set  me  down  at  last  in  that  Fair  Country, 

Far  beyond  the  skies — 
Come,  blessed  sleep,  and  bind  mine  eyes! 


TO  WASSILY  SAFONOFF 

In  commemoration  of  his  last  night  as  Conductor  of  the  New  Tork  Philharmonic 
Society — Saturday  Evening,  March  2^th)  /pop,  at  Carnegie  Hall. 

IF  ALL  the  music  that  has  touched  my  heart, 
And  thrilled  my  soul  through  all  the  years — 
The  organ-tones  in  some  cathedral  grand. 
The  cadences  of  some  sweet  symphony, 
The  martial  strains  of  some  great  military  band, 
The  solemn  harmonies  of  dear  old  hymns; 
And  glorious  notes  from  prima-donna  throats, 
And  simple  melodies  of  home  and  love, 
And  warbling  of  the  birds  in  field  and  wood, 
And  joyous  laughter  of  the  mountain-brook: 
E'en  too,  the  "music  of  the  spheres" — 
Those  angel- voices  that  have  come  to  me  in  dreamy  sleep — 
If  these  could  fall  again  upon  mine  ears 
In  one  vast  volume  of  harmonious  sound, 
Not  all  of  them  combined  could  give  to  me 
That  thrill  of  ecstasy  which  swept, 
Like  lightning,  o'er  my  soul  that  night. 

Dear  Friend,  I  lay  this  tribute  at  thy  feet, 
As  did  thy  audience  great,  on  that  last  night, 
Beneath  the  thraldom  of  thy  mighty  spell. 
I  hear  again  those  plaudits,  loud  and  deep; 
I  see  once  more  the  wreath  of  laurel  brought 


To  crown  thee  Master,  Emperor,  King, — 
Monarch  of  Music's  ever-blessed  Realm. 

All  hail  to  thee,  Maestro  Great! 
Go  forth  unfaltering  on  thy  mission  grand. 
May  every  soul  be  touched  as  mine  has  been 
That  comes  within  the  influence  of  thy  power. 
For  Heaven  hath  given  to  thee  that  spark  divine, 
That  inspiration  that  shall  help  to  speed  the  hour 
When  love  and  peace  shall  reign  supreme, 
And  hate  and  strife  shall  be  no  more. 

And  hail  to  thee !     O  Glorious  Morn ! 
Whose  rising  beams  shall  usher  in 
The  Fatherhood  of  God,  sublime, 
The  Brotherhood  of  all  Mankind! 


l*33J 
A  PRAYER 

FATHER,  pointing  through  an  open  door; 
A  little  child,  obedient,  entering  in — 
The  train  speeds  by. 

Dear  Father,  make  thou  me,  e'en  as  that  little  child, 

Guide  thou  my  feet  along  life's  weary  road: 

And  then,  at  last,  through  earthly  portals  dark, 

Point  thou  the  way, 

And  I,  obedient,  will  enter  in  to  realms  and 

Mansions  of  Eternal  Day! 


[134] 
RETROSPECTION 

GHE  OLD  year  is  fading. 
Are  we  glad  that  'tis  gone? 
Has  it  left  us  disheartened. 
Despondent,  forlorn? 

Have  its  lessons  been  bitter? 

Have  its  tasks  seemed  too  hard? 
Has  it  left  our  souls  weary, 

Our  hearts  sad  and  scarred? 

Has  hate  left  its  mark 

And  anger  its  stain 
And  envy  its  venom 

And  sorrow  its  pain? 

Or  has  love  reigned  supreme 
In  the  days  that  are  flown  ? 

Have  sweet  seeds  of  kindness 
Been  winnowed  and  sown  ? 

Have  heart-aches  been  ended 
And  heart-breaks  been  mended 

By  words  from  our  lips 
Or  by  deeds  from  our  hands? 


O,  the  joy  and  the  sorrow, 
The  pleasure  and  pain, 

The  love  and  the  hate, 
The  sunshine  and  rain, 

The  sweet  and  the  bitter, 
Are  never  in  vain, 

If,  out  of  the  turmoil 

And  peace  of  the  years, 
The  heart  still  responds 

And  the  soul  still  aspires 
To  thoughts  that  are  noble 

And  love  that  is  true; 
For  they  lead  us  at  last 

To  the  portals  of  Time, 
And  usher  us  into 

God's  New  Year  sublime! 


A  BURIAL  AT  SEA 

HANGS  the  mist  o'er  the  face  of  the  deep; 
The  ponderous  bulk  of  the  great  ship  is  still; 
The  men  at  the  rail  lift  their  burden  so  light, 
And  await  the  last  word  of  command. 
And  the  wail  of  the  wind,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea — 
These  shall  her  requiem  be! 

Wrapped  in  her  garments  of  sleep,  dreamless  sleep, 

Free  from  all  pain,  so  peaceful  she  lies; 
While  asleep  in  the  cabin  a  motherless  babe 

Is  dreaming  of  her  and  of  home  far  away. 
And  the  wail  of  the  wind,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea — 

These  shall  her  requiem  be ! 

A  sister  is  waiting  in  yonder  far  port, 

A  mother  is  yearning  for  her  'circling  arms; 

But  those  fathomless  depths  wait  and  yearn  for  her,  too, 
And  lift  to  caress  her  their  seething  white  lips. 

And  the  wail  of  the  wind,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea — 
These  shall  her  requiem  be! 

The  last  word  is  spoken ! 

In  the  gray  light  of  dawn, 
A  swift,  downward  gleam  of  white  canvas, 

And  chill  waters  forever  close  o'er  her. 


And  the  wail  of  the  wind,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea — 
These  shall  her  requiem  be! 


Bright  is  the  morning  that  follows; 

Far  in  our  white  wake  the  spot 
Beneath  which  she  lies  in  her  deep  ocean-bed, 

With  the  sea-grasses  waving  above  her. 
And  the  wail  of  the  wind,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea- 

These  shall  her  requiem  be! 

And  I  think  of  another  bright  morning  to  come, 

When,  from  world's  end  to  world's  end,  together 
Shall  roll  the  firmament  vast,  like  a  scroll, 

And  the  deep,  cruel  sea  shall  give  up  its  dead. 
And,  until  then,  unceasing, 

The  wail  of  the  wind,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea — 

These  shall  her  requiem  be! 


[138] 
INVOCATION 

HET  us  give  thanks,  upon  this  Day  of  Thanks, 
As  did  our  fathers  in  the  days  of  old — 
Lift  high  our  voices  in  a  song  of  praise  to  Him 
For  blessings  far  outnumbering  our  deserts: 
That  health  and  strength  and  courage  still  are  ours; 
That  in  our  hearts  dwell  happiness  and  love; 
That  life  grows  sweeter  as  the  days  glide  on; 
That,  through  another  year,  the  scythe  of  the  Grim  Reaper 
Hath  not  mown  us,  nor  any  of  our  loved  ones,  down; 
That  the  eternal  verities  of  God's  love  and  tender  care 
Grow  clearer  to  us  as  our  span  of  life  speeds  to  the  end; 
That  within  the  confines  of  our  beloved  Country 
Abundance  and  prosperity  do  reign,  and  over  all 
The  Angel  of  Peace  spreadeth  her  protecting  wings. 
C'O,  let  us  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  for  He  is  good, 
For  His  mercy  endureth  forever!" 


THE  MARTYRS 

Lines  written  after  visiting  the  'Torture  Chamber  at  T"he  Hague,  and,  later,  hearing  Bach's 
great  organ  in  the  Church  of  St.  Bavokerk  at  Haarlem. 

GHROUGH  iron  bars  the  sunlight  warm  is  streaming, 
Making  still  more  hideous  these  instruments  of 
pain, 

And  as  we  gaze  we  seem  to  catch  the  gleaming 
Of  those  fires  of  torture  lit  by  the  Sons  of  Cain. 

Speak!    O  ye  walls!  and  tell  the  awful  story! 

Dead  stones  awake!  and  cry  to  highest  heaven 
Of  deeds  of  blackness,  now  grown  old  and  hoary, 

When  cruel  power  to  bigots'  hands  was  given. 

"Man's  inhumanity  to  man"  was  here  revealed, 
Where  groans  of  poignant  anguish  rent  the  air, 

Until  at  last  parched  lips  by  death  were  sealed — 
Lips  whispering  to  the  end  a  fervent  prayer. 

"Recant!    Recant!"  a  deep-toned  voice  is  saying, 
"Turn  from  thy  heresy  again  to  Mother  Church!" 

"Keep  thou  me  faithful!"  the  tortured  one  is  praying, 
While  very  pangs  of  hell  his  mangled  body  search. 

O  Christ!  who  died  for  these  in  bitter  degradation, 
Why  were  Thine  ears  then  shut  against  those  awful 
cries  ? 


[i4o] 

Where  then  the  merits  of  Thy  great  salvation 

When  cruelties  like  these  could  rend  the  very  skies  ? 

Where  was  the  angel  bright  who  saved  thy  servant  Daniel? 

Where  was  the  power  that  rescued  David  from  Saul's 

hand? 
Where  was  the  myriad-host  that  Thy  hand  couldst  empanel 

To  snatch  thy  suffering  children  from  the  fiery  brand? 

Walls  answer  not;  the  silence  grows  depressing; 

Mute  are  these  stones  that  once  ran  red  with  gore; 
Even  the  sun  withholds  its  light  caressing, 

As  with  sad  hearts  we  close  the  heavy  door. 
******* 

What  are  these  strains  that  on  our  ears  are  pealing? 

Whence  come  these  wailing  cries  that  fill  the  choir  and 

nave? 
Whence  these  angelic  notes  upon  our  senses  stealing, 

As  if  High  Heaven  to  us  its  benediction  gave? 

What  are  these  thunderous  tones  that  awe  our  souls  to 

stillness — 
That  vibrate  through  this  sacred  place,  in  accents  long 

and  deep, 
And  fill  our  hearts  with  peace  in  all  its  fullness, 

While  heavenly  joy  within,  its  watch  and  ward  doth 
keep? 


Find  here,  my  soul  of  souls,  what  those  mute  stones  re- 

taineth; 

Hear  in  these  organ-tones  the  answer  thou  hast  sought — 
For,  "Alleluja!  our  God  forever  reigneth!" 

Chant  all  those  martyred  ones  in  Heaven's  celestial 
court. 

"Through  tribulation  great,"  I  hear  His  voice  resounding, 
"Have  these  true  souls  well  won  the  right  to  wear 

That  crown  of  life,  with  joy  and  peace  abounding, 

Which  those,  who,  faithful  unto  death,  shall  share!" 

So,  when  of  that  far  land  across  the  seas  I'm  dreaming, 
And  that  accursed  chamber  is  once  more  before  mine  eye, 

I  listen  for  the  answer  from  that  great  organ  streaming, 
And  hear  those  martyr-voices  ringing  loud  and  clear  on 
High! 


INTO  THE  NIGHT 

INTO  THE  night  we  are  speeding  along, 
Into  the  night,  into  the  night, 
With  rumble  and  roar  for  our  even-song, 
Into  the  night. 

Into  the  night  we  are  hurrying  on, 

Into  the  night,  into  the  night, 
By  a  fiery,  tireless  steed  we  are  drawn, 

Into  the  night. 

Into  the  night  we  sweep  towards  the  West, 

Into  the  night,  into  the  night, 
Sweeping  with  thunderous  whirl  and  unrest, 

Into  the  night. 

Into  the  night  we  leap  towards  the  dawn, 

Into  the  night,  into  the  night, 
Leaping  to  greet  a  day  yet  unborn, 

Into  the  night. 

Into  the  night — Ah!  this  is  Life! 

Into  the  night,  into  the  night, 
Life  with  its  turbulence,  toil  and  strife, 

Into  the  night. 


LI43J 

Out  of  the  night!    See!    The  East  is  aglow! 

Out  of  the  night!  out  of  the  night! 
With  rumble  and  roar  exultant  we  go 

Into  the  light! 


[144] 

CHRISTMAS  MEMORIES 

VEET  ON  the  air  the  Christmas  bells  are  ringing — 
Ringing  out  glad  tidings  of  good  will  and  peace 

to  men; 
Voices  of  children  burst  forth  in  joyous  singing, 

Heavenly  choirs  responding  repeat  those  songs  again. 

Thoughts  of  past  Christmas-tides  are  all  about  us  throng 
ing, 

Visions  of  the  bygone  years  before  us  come  and  go, 
Bringing  in  their  shining  train  a  deep,  insistent  longing 

For  home  and  kin  and  mother-love  of  that  dear  long-ago. 

Why  should  we  seek  to  stifle  this  great  yearning 

For  childhood  joys  and  happiness   that  never'll  come 

again  ? 

Why  seek  to  quench  the  love  that  in  our  hearts  is  burning 
For  old-time  scenes  and  faces,  viewed  through  the  mist 

and  rain 
Of  tears  that  come  unbidden,  of  tears  that  fall  in  vain? 

Dear  Father!     Thou  the  giver  of  all  life  and  light  for 
ever! 
Let  not  these  memories  of  the  past  a  hollow  mockery 

prove. 
O,  keep  our  faith  unshaken !    Give  back  those  Thou  hast 

taken — 
O,  in  Thy  many  mansions  blest,  join  us  to  those  we  love! 


[1451 
QUESTIONINGS 

HENCE  doth  the  lone  bird  fly 

Swift  through  its  realms  of  sky? 
Where  doth  it  roam? 


Whence  floats  the  fleecy  cloud 
White  as  a  virgin's  shroud? 
Where  is  its  home? 

Whence  doth  the  proud  ship  sail 

Steady  in  calm  and  gale? 
Where  is  her  port? 

Whence  runs  the  laughing  brook 
Dashing  through  shady  nook? 
What  ocean's  sought? 

Whence  dies  the  sunset's  blaze — 

Flinging  its  dazzling  rays 
Into  the  night? 

Whence  fade  the  throbbing  stars 

As  morning's  radiant  bars 
Usher  the  light? 

Whence  flies  the  fleeting  breath 

As  mortal  sinks  to  death? 
To  what  far  shore  ? 


[146] 

Why  dost  thou  doubt,  my  soul? 

Heaven  is  the  final  goal, 
God  is  the  Perfect  Whole— 

Thine  evermore! 


fi47l 
BOYHOOD  MEMORIES 

GHIS  is  the  spot  around  which  cluster 
Tender  memories  of  my  boyhood  days — 
Memories  that  have  dwelt  with  me 
Through  all  the  years  since  that 
Bright  morning  on  which  I  set  my  face 
So  hopefully  towards  far-off  western  lands — 
Memories  that,  even  in  my  dreams, 
Have  overshadowed  me  in  benedictions  soft  and  sweet! 

And  now  I  live  again  those  happy  olden  days! — 

The  boyhood  friends;  the  events — some  commonplace, 

Some  rare  and  fraught  with  subtle  meaning — 

That  made  up  the  web  and  woof 

Of  all  the  yesterdays  of  my  younger  years. 

Here  is  the  peaceful  river,  catching 

Ten  thousand  glin tings  from  the  summer  sun; 

The  wooded  slopes  beyond  its  western  rim; 

The  quiet  churchyard  with  its  green  graves, 

O'er  which   the   bending   branches   chant   their   solemn 

requiem: 

The  boat,  moored  to  the  old  tree  by  the  river's  bank, 
In  which  I  often  floated  with  the  stream 
On  summer  evenings  long  ago;  the  apple  tree, 
Grown  old  and  hoar,  'neath  which  I  used  to  watch 
The  golden  beams  die  in  the  radiant  west, 


And  long  to  follow  them  to  lands  beyond  the  sun — 
All  these  come  back  to  me  in  one  great,  overpowering 
Rush  of  tender  memories  of  those  far-off  years. 

But  in  this  happy  retrospection,  in  which  I  live  again 
My  boyhood  hours,  a  shadow  falls  upon  my  heart, 
And  a  poignant,  unassuaged  sorrow  fills  it  to  overflowing. 
HER  tender,  tired  face  is  mine  to  gaze  upon  no  longer! 
Nevermore  in  this  dear  place  will  those  soft  eyes 
Look  into  mine,  and  that  sweet  voice  address  me! 
Gone  from  this  earth,  its  suffering,  toil  and  care, 
She  sleeps  in  yonder  hallowed  spot  with  those 
She  loved  so  well  in  other  years. 

0  Mother  mine!     I  call  to  thee  across  the  valley  dark 
That  lies  between  thy  bright  celestial  home  and  this 
Poor  world  of  time,  and  thou  dost  answer  me . 

Here  on  this  spot,  where  in  the  bygone  years  you  toiled 
And  hoped  and  prayed,  I  feel  thy  gentle  presence  near. 
And  boyhood's  innocence  returns  to  me,  and  mantles  me 
With  robes  of  ermine  white,  as  spotless  as  thine  own 
In  Heaven,  my  Mother  dear !     And,  with  that  noble  queen 
of  old, 

1  cry   to  God:  "O,  keep   me  innocent! — Make  others 
great!" 


MEXICO 

LACK  clouds  roll  up  from  Mexico, 

That  sunny  land,  that  land  of  woe — 
War-worn,  strife-riven  Mexico! 

Wild  cries  ring  out  from  Mexico, 

Ring  out  on  flaming  winds  that  blow 
Famine  and  death  o'er  Mexico. 

And  women's  moans  come  on  the  breeze  from  Mexico, 

And  shrieks  of  little  children,  running  to  and  fro 
In  streets  wet  with  their  blood,  in  Mexico. 

"How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long,"  in  Mexico, 

Shall  they  maltreat  Thy  children  so? — 
Benighted,  murderous  Mexico! 

And  vows  of  vengeance  rend  the  air  in  Mexico; 

Vengeance  'gainst  them  who  laid  their  chieftain  low- 
He  who,  but  four  short  days  ago, 

Ruled  panic-stricken  Mexico. 

His  was  no  tyrant's  rule,  in  Mexico! 

Gentle  alike  to  friend  or  foe, 
Madero  lived  for  Mexico. 

"Dreamer  and  Weakling"  named  they  him,  in  Mexico. 
"Dreamer  and  Weakling?" — Aye,  but  better  so 


Than  treacherous  assassin  'neath  whose  blow 
Madero  died  for  Mexico! 

Beware!    Beware!    O  Mexico! 

The  Northern  Eagle's  eyes  expand  and  glow 
With  horror  at  thy  deeds,  O  Mexico! 

From  Freedom's  Heights  I  hear  her  call, 

I  hear  the  tramp  of  armed  men, 
I  hear  their  answering  shouts  again ! 

Beware!    Beware!    Or  thou  shalt  know 

That  retribution's  at  thy  gates, — 
O  savage,  blood-stained  Mexico! 


PEACE 

OWHEN  shall  this  old  world  have  peace? 
We  pray  for  peace,  and  yet  peace  cometh  not. 
Dun  war-clouds  roll  athwart  the  Balkan  skies, 
And  thund'rous  cannon  belch  and  flame 
Their  message  from  the  fiends  in  hell ! 

And  fields  and  streets  in  Mexico 

Run  red  with  human  blood. 

There,  brothers'  hands  are  clutching  brothers'  throats, 

And  there,  assassins'  bullets,  in  the  dark, 

Lay  leaders  of  the  people  low. 

We  pray  for  peace,  and  yet  peace  cometh  not. 

Nor  ever  will  come  while  men  cherish  in  their  hearts, 

Hate,  avarice,  and  wild  lustings  after  power. 

O  Thou  Omniscient,  Mighty  One! 

Creator  of  this  little  world 

And  of  those  greater  worlds 

That  gleam  and  glisten 

In  the  midnight-skies, 

Touch  with  Thy  magic  wand  of  love 

The  hearts  of  savage,  selfish  men ! 

Lead  Thou  poor  Human  Nature  by  the  hand, 

Beside  still  waters,  to  those  pastures  green 

Of  WORLD-WIDE,  EVERLASTING  PEACE! 


JOAQUIN  MILLER 

ow  LOVELY  was  that  Sabbath  morn 
On  which  we  climbed  the  steeps  to  clasp  his  hand ! 

The  enchanting  land  resplendent  glowed  with  sunshine 
Such  as  falls  only  from  California  skies; 

Before  our  eyes  twin  cities  fair, 

Whose  shores  are  lapped  by  summer  seas; 

Upon  the  breeze  came  songs  of  lark  and  oriole, 
And  lowing  of  the  cattle  on  green  hills; 

Murmuring  rills  leaped  forth  from  bosky  lurking-places, 
Now  and  then,  behind  the  winding  turns;  ,, 

Wild  flowers  and  ferns  bent  o'er  their  limpid  waters, 
Glinting  in  the  sun: 

Anon,  through  emerald  openings  in  the  wooded  range, 
Glimpses  we  caught  of  that  vast  ocean-waste 
Which  sweeps  resistless  to  the  Farthest  West. 

And  now,  we  rest  a  moment  at  his  humble  door, 

Then,  entering,  greet  him  there,  prostrate  upon  his  couch 

of  pain, 
From  which  he  nevermore  shall  rise  again. 


[153] 

The  wild  beast's  skin  that  drapes  his  homely  bed 
Brings  memories  of  his  wild  and  stormy  past. 
But,  as  we  gaze,  he  seems  to  cast  it  from  him, 
As  'twere  some  tattered  garment,  useless  now. 

Upon  his  furrowed  brow,  enwreathed  with  flowing  locks 

of  white, 

The  peace  of  God  indelibly  seems  set. 
Serener  yet,  his  pallid  face,  and  those  world-weary  eyes, 
So  soon  to  look  on  Paradise. 


As  we  recall  that  ne'er-forgotten  day, 

The  glorious  beauty  of  those  Sabbath  hours 

Fit  setting  seems  for  the  last  act  of  his  life's  play: 

Out  of  the  shadows,  as  the  curtain  falls, 

To  hovering  angels  bright,  he  calls — 

"I  hear  ye!    Pity  me!    Take  me  away!    Take  me  away!" 

Ah,  yes!  in  very  deed,  sweeping  the  heavens  free, 
"Some  fair  star  earthward  stooped,  and  beckoned  thee," 
And  thou  art  gone ! 


Yet  thy  name  liveth  on,  Sonorous  Singer  of  a  Golden  Time! 
Builder  of  massive  monuments  of  stone! 


[154] 

Thy  songs   are  on  the  lips  of  all  the  world —  in  every 

clime, — 

And  thou,  at  last,  art  come  into  thine  own. 
And  like  that  noble  cairn  thou  didst  erect  to  Moses*  name 
On  thy  beloved  "Rights," — imperishable  thy  fame. 

O  matchless  poet!    Thou  who  so  beautifully  told 

The  wondrous  story  of  this  Land  of  Gold — 

This  Land  of  Promise  by  the  western  sea, — 

Thy  works  do  follow  thee: 

And  in  that  Golden  Land,  beyond  the  sun, 

Thou  hearest  now  the  Master's  words — "Well  done]" 


THANKSGIVING  DAY,  1914 

GHIS  is  our  day  of  thanksgiving! 
Thanksgiving  for  what? 
That  our  nation  is  free  from  the  blot — 
The  red  blot  of  carnage  and  war? 
That  the  shrieks  of  the  dying  which  come  from  afar 
Come  not  from  the  lips  of  our  own? 
That  the  lands   drenched   with   gore   and   with   misery 

strown, 

Lie  beyond  the  wild  wastes  of  the  sea? 
That  our  land  is  the  land  of  the  free? 
That  here  peace  and  plenty  do  reign? 
That  'gainst  us  war's  waves  surge  in  vain  ? 

O,  how  can  we  thanksgivings  bring 

To  the  throne  of  the  Heavenly  King, 

When  the  kings  of  this  world 

Have  red  banners  unfurled, 

And  deluged  the  earth  with  the  life-blood  of  men — 

And  women  and  children,  again  and  again  ? 

No!  not  thanks  to-day  do  we  bring 
To  the  throne  of  the  Heavenly  King 
That  our  own  land  is  happy  and  free: 
Not  thanks,  but  a  passionate  plea 
For  justice  'gainst  them  who  oppress, 


For  succor  to  them  in  distress; 

For  the  dawn  of  a  day 

Whose  sun  rolls  away 

The  black  clouds  of  war 

And  men  battle  no  more; 

But,  hand  in  hand,  work  out  a  righteous  plan — 

Glad  dream  of  all  the  ages — the  BROTHERHOOD  OF  MAN! 


[1571 
THE  MARCH  OF  THE  HOURS 

CHE  MARCH,  unceasing,  of  the  flying  hours 
Brings  to  its  close  another  earthly  year. 
Backward  along  Time's  hoary  track 
The  beacon  lights  grow  dim; 
And  down  the  vista  of  the  year  to  be 
The  signals  of  Futurity  are  set. 

What  of  the  path  whose  devious  way  they  mark  ? 
Will  it  resound  with  tread  of  lightsome  feet? 
With  peals  of  laughter,  shouts  of  joy? 
Or  echo  with  the  sombre  tramp  of  leaden  limbs, 
Numb  with  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  the  world? — 
With  songs  whose  only  music  is  a  dirge? 

Will  this  New  Year  bring  surcease  from  the  strife 
Which  rends  the  very  earth  and  steeps  in  misery  the  Race? 
Will  brutal-visaged  War,  by  Peace  enchained, 
Be  thrust  back  to  that  Hell  from  whence  he  came? 

O,  for  the  speedy  coming  of  the  Dawn 
That  ushers  in  the  brotherhood  of  man! 
O  Blessed  Day!  whose  sun  shall  shine  upon 
A  world  redeemed  from  bitterness  and  greed: 
Where  men's  sole  gospel  shall  be  peace  and  love, 
And  human  sympathy  shall  reign  supreme! 


THE  SIXTH  SENSE 

'ENSES  five  hath  the  Creator  given 
To  man  for  earthly  weal  or  woe, — 
But  there's  another  sense  whose  blessedness  e'en 
All  the  rest  combined  cannot  bestow! 

It  is  that  subtle,  undefined  sense, — 
A  thing  ethereal  and  not  born  of  earth — 
Some  souls  have  found  in  it  Life's  recompense — 
Souls  cursed  with  toil  and  suffering  from  birth. 

Stranger  meets  stranger: — they  clasp  hands — 

They  look  into  each  other's  answering  eyes, 

And  know  they've  met  before,  in  other  lands, 

Yet  with  that  knowledge  comes  no  feeling  of  surprise. 

In  other  lands — perhaps  beyond  this  little  life  of  ours, — 
They've  walked  in  close  communion  sweet, 
Among  Elysian  fields  and  deathless  flowers — 
Those  Border-lands  where  Time  and  long  Eternities  do 
meet. 

And  thou,  O  soul,  dear  counterpart  of  mine! 
Didst  walk  with  me  in  Lands  beyond  the  Sun, — 
And  then  we  lost  each  other  in  the  mists  of  Time; 
But  now  we  meet  again  in  this  fair  world,  our  weary  wan 
derings  done. 


HOW  I  DISCOVERED  "LITTLE  RHODY!" 

gou  know  'tis  said  that  dear  old  Roger — 
Protestant  firm,  and  agile  dodger 
Of  Puritanic  persecution — 
Won  all  the  Natives  with  his  elocution 
The  day  he  sailed  up  Narragansett  Bay. 

"What  Cheer!    What  Cheer!"  the  savage  chorus  cried. 

Whereat  the  noble  Roger  sighed — 
"  This  surely  is  the  hand  of  Providence ! 

For  here  I  am  a  man  of  consequence: 
I'd  rather  with  these  painted  red  men  sit 

And  eat  the  juicy  clam  from  steaming  pit, 
Than  eat  forever  and  a  day, 

Cold  pork  and  beans  on  Massachusetts  Bay — 
I  guess  I'll  stay!" 

All  this  the  story-books  do  show; 

And  now  I'll  strike  an  awful  blow 
At  those  historians  old  and  slow — 

For  I'm  iconoclastic  you  must  know. 
I'm  going  to  raise  a  dreadful  fuss 

And  get  those  fellows  in  a  muss; 
And  you  can  safely  to  me  toady, 

For  I  discovered  "Little  Rhody!"— 
It  happened  thus: 


[i6o] 

'Twas  on  a  Sabbath  morn  in  May — 
In  fact  'twas  Decoration  Day — 

The  train  was  headed  Boston  way, 
When  suddenly  there  came  a  bump 

As  if  my  car  had  struck  a  stump: 
:  'Tis  Providence!"  the  porter  cries, 

And  straight  I  oped  my  sleepy  eyes; — 
Sat  up  in  bed  in  mild  surprise. 

"So  this  is  Providence?"  I  said: 

"It  is,"  quoth  he,  "an'  awful  dead!" 

Alas!    Alack!     It  was  too  true — 
The  morning  sun,  in  sky  so  blue, 

Looked  down 

Upon  a  sleepy  town . 

Successors  to  good  Roger  lay 

In  slumber  deep  that  morn  in  May. 

The  hour  had  not  yet  struck  for  prayer, 
No  sound  of  church  bells  in  the  air, 

But  there  are  those  who  firm  declare 
That  praying  is  a  long-lost  art 

In  "Little  Rhody's"  quiet  mart! 

And  now  I  tramp  me  up  and  down 
To  find  conveyance  out  of  town : 

Impatiently  I  stand  and  wait — 
Like  all  things  here,  the  car  is  late! 


At  last  it  turns  Weybosset  with  a  crash, 
And  then  up  Washington  we  dash; 

Through  Elmwood's  shady  lanes  we  go, 
Into  the  country,  sure  but  slow. 

The  hills  are  dressed  in  living  green, 

And,  now  and  then,  the  silvery  sheen 
Of  quiet  waters  sparkling  in  the  sun — 

A  dazzling  tribute  to  the  day  begun. 
The  blue  bird  calls  from  out  the  bush, 

And  then  the  song  and  sudden  rush 
Of  robin  red-breast  on  the  wing^— 

Ah!  how  they  touch  my  heart  and  bring 
Me  back  those  boyhood  hours 

'Midst  "Little  Rhody's"  trees  and  flowers! 

Here  waves  the  dandelion  still; 

Horse-chestnuts  bloom  upon  the  hill 
With  butter-cups  and  daisies  fair; 

There's  scent  of  violets  in  the  air, 
And  clover  perfume  everywhere — 

All  verdant  Nature's  in  a  thrill, 
And  sentient  life  bends  to  her  will. 

On  through  the  quiet  villages  we  pass, 
Where  little  groups  now  wend  the  way 


[162] 

To  worship  on  this  sacred  day 

And  pay, 
With  bowed  and  reverent  head, 

Their  tribute  to  the  Nation's  dead. 


And  now  I  stand  within  the  door 

Of  the  old  homestead,  where  of  yore 
The  loved  ones  gathered  round  the  board, 

And  Time  flew  swift,  and  sweet  accord 
Reigned  here  supreme  in  childhood  hours. 

Ah  me!    They  never  will  come  back: 
They've  sped  away  upon  life's  track 

That  leads  from  this  old  world  of  Time 
Into  Eternity  sublime. 

And  faces  once  so  radiant  here! — 
At  thought  of  them,  the  bitter  tear 

Wells  up  unbidden  to  my  eyes, — 
I  send  a  prayer  into  the  skies 

And  lo!  a  benediction,  sweet, 
Falls  at  my  very  feet. 

"And  what  hast  thou  discovered,  pray?" 
I  hear  some  doubting  Thomas  say. 

"Why  only  this"  I  make  reply;— 
"Of  all  the  lands  beneath  the  sky, 


From  Maine  to  California  great, 

There's  none  can  touch  my  Native  State! 
A  little  State  of  big  renown — 

The  State  of  Burnside,  Green  and  Brown, 
And  Williams, — crowned  with  Freedom's  crown !' 

Ah,  ''Little  Rhody"  may  be  slow — 
But  then,  its  home,  sweet  home, 

You  know! 


[i64] 
FAILURE 

now  OFT  in  life  we  fail! 
The  sails  we  set  to  some  auspicious  gale, 
Only  to  find  our  ship  at  last 
On  treacherous  shoals,  aground  and  fast. 

How  oft  we  labor,  with  a  Titan's  might, 

On  plans  conceived  through  many  a  weary  night; 

Build,  with  incessant  toil,  a  structure  fair, 
Only  to  see  it  vanish  into  air. 

How  oft  we  battle  till  the  fight  seems  won, 

Only  to  see,  when  day  is  done, 
The  night-clouds  lower  and  the  stars  look  down 

On  fields  with  dead  hopes  thickly  strewn. 

Yet,  from  our  failures  must  we  ever  rise 
With  grim  determination  in  our  eyes, 

And  set  the  sails  again  and  labor  on 

And  battle  till  the  shades  of  night  are  gone — 

Full  sure  that  vict'ry  cometh  with  the  dawn! 


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